


Loving With Hands Instead (of Words)

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthropomorphic, BDSM Scene, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Making Love, Mutual Masturbation, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Violence, Vomiting, Will continue to add more as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 167,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis is absolutely, without a doubt, NOT a circus animal. He is not one to be tamed or captured or put on display. </p><p>So when he is, he spends the next year trying to tear apart the bastard who did it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a very VERY lengthy original work between myself and my lovely partner Thistle (who uses they pronouns, please, if you ever bring them up in comments you might leave)
> 
> I commend you for reading if you have made the decision to do so. It will be quite the undertaking for you. I hope you're ready for a shitstorm of emotions. 
> 
> Here is a picture of Crane http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2014/237/8/a/sakkath_by_alexkingofthedamned-d7wlhys.png  
> And a picture of both him and Lewis http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2015/060/3/6/crane_and_lewis_by_alexkingofthedamned-d8k3muz.png

"Take it to the lowest level, he said." Crane grunts as he shoulders the door in front of him open, carrying a hefty box of Opparuvian pearls in his arms. "The elevators are _out of order_ he said."

 

Working for the richest and most privileged man in the galaxy is, at the best of times, tiresome. At the worst, debilitating. When you live on a planet literally _named after_ the man you work for, it’s a guaranteed shitty job.

 

Stark Titanium is a lot of things. A business man, a “philanthropist” if you can call it that, a maniac, a tyrant, a raving queen. He’s what happens when you take a man with the ego the size of a planet... and then give him a planet. His reach stretches far across the galaxies, in the form of a very wide-spread and well-known chain of pawn shops “All That Glitters” which grosses him billions per year.

 

What does a man do with billions of dollars in wealth and a god complex? Why, build himself a mansion that could qualify as a small city, fill it with enough staff to _populate_ a small city, and cover it in millions of strange items and self portraits glorifying himself, of course.

 

As if the eccentric madman’s home wasn't labyrinthine enough, the fact that all the elevators are suddenly and mysteriously out of order means walking literally miles to transport a 100-pound box of shiny rocks by hand. He'd argued that this is what the billionaire has thousands of staff for, but protesting is what ultimately sealed his fate and has him walking for more than 45 minutes to move pearls from the drop-off port to the lowest-security level of his storage.

 

Which also happened to be the lowest level.   
Which, without elevators, meant _more walking._

 

He sticks his sandpaper tongue out at the camera pointing at the stairwell purposefully before hefting the box onto the nearest possible shelf. He arches his back, hands on his backside to stabilize himself as he feels his vertebrae popping and shifting back into place. With a final twist of his neck and a roll of his shoulders, he shakes off the last of the weight of the horrible box. Maybe now that he's done Titanium's bidding, he'll be released early for the day. Not likely, but it's a nice dream to carry for the next hour while he winds his way back through the absurdly large mansion.

 

Peering down the long, endless rows of _stuff,_ he shakes his head. How any man can have this many things boggles his mind. Titanium has so many possessions he can't possibly enjoy all of them. If one thing went missing from down here, he wouldn't even notice because he has so many things. It's a shame that any one person can be so affluent while there are others struggling just to get by.

 

Somewhere far down the line a few rows away, he hears a strange noise. It almost sounds like something fell off a shelf. Furrowing his hairless brow, he creeps between the shelves towards the noise. When he hears it again, he flinches and goes up on his toes. Another row away there's a strange giant box stretching all the way from the ceiling to the floor, concrete on one side and plexiglass the other three.

 

He looks cautiously around the corner, but when the sound smashes through the quiet storage halls again, he nearly jumps out of his skin and flies a couple feet backwards with a distressed caterwaul. Whatever that thing was - he didn't get a good look at it - it's big and noisy and trapped in a cage, which probably means it's dangerous. He has absolutely no idea what kind of monsters Titanium might keep as pets or science projects or what have you, but he knows the man has no limitations, no shame whatsoever on the kind of faire he would keep. It's in his best interest to turn and skedaddle.

 

Long ago Lewis lost track of how many days it’s been since he was taken into captivity, long ago he lost track of how long he’s been treated like an animal by that son of a bitch who ordered him brought to this strange world. But it’s been almost two weeks since the fucker got tired of gawking at him, parading him in front of guests, using him as furniture, having his servants whip him when he refused to play like a lamb for this prick they called master. Lewis has been in this glass cage for 13 days, slowly starving, bashing his head against the bulletproof plexiglass, counting every tiny crack as a victory.

 

He’s worked his fingers bloody unscrewing a short length of the pipe that runs down the far corner of his cell, rejoicing in the moment it finally came apart in his hands and clean, fresh water cascaded out across his cracked lips. He’s been applying the pipe to the fruitless spiderweb of cracks in the glass for the past few days, stopping only to sleep, but his strength is almost at an end. Desperately, unable to lift his arms enough to get a good swing, he’s once again come down to cracking his horns against the glass, bleating in pain every time they make contact, but determined not to give in until he’s free of this cage.

 

For the most part, this glass tomb has been quiet apart from the dripping and rushing of the water in the pipe, but suddenly he hears a new sound, strangely familiar – a cat yowling. He jerks to a halt, listening, waiting for the sound to come again.

 

Crane flattens himself to the shelves the next row over. The crashing has stopped, but maybe that's because whatever's trapped inside that cage spotted him and is trying to figure out how to get to him. He's not terribly interested in becoming prey. He breathes hard through his wide nose, trying to calm his panting as he holds a hand to his chest to feel his heart racing.

 

Whatever is inside that cage is either dead or stopped. Maybe he can get a good look at it now. He creeps forward silently on padded toes and peeks around the corner…

But apparently the creature decided to move at exactly the same time he did, because the second his wide eyes peer around the edge of the shelf, he sees the big shape smash against the glass again and he gives a second, even louder squall. He has to get out of there now. He turns on his heel and immediately starts to sprint away.

 

Lewis waits, motionless, counting “one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand...”. It’s the only way he can keep his rage and panic in check long enough to survey the empty halls beyond his glass prison. But there’s nothing. And suddenly he’s really, really pissed off again, and determined to give whoever’s skulking around a scare. He explodes forward, ramming his horns into the crack in his cage, letting out a shout of pain as his head makes contact. He has the brief glimpse of something pale retreating quickly and thinks, ‘good’, before he rebounds and collapses against the far wall of his cell, reeling. Half unconscious, he bleats softly, clutching at his aching head, the outsider forgotten in the pain and weakness that’s overpowering him.

 

Crane stops. Was that a… bleating sound? He suddenly feels very embarrassed. Has he been frightened by a sheep? He creeps forward again and this time when he looks around the corner, he sees a figure crumpled on the floor of the little cell. He registers fluffy light curls and curled horns, but his attention is quickly captured by the smear of blood on the glass in the center of a circle of fractures.

 

Fractures that have definitely been accumulating for a while. So this thing isn't trying to get to him, it's just trying to get out. He pads silently forward, his tail swishing nervously behind him as he takes in the sight of the creature in the cage.

 

The horns, curls and ears all make sense, but the long body attached to them throw him off. It's some kind of… sheep man. He's never seen anything like it. He quietly steps up to the glass, but either the crouched figure has knocked itself out, or it's purposefully ignoring him. Tentatively, Crane lifts one hand and knocks on the glass. Worst comes to worse he can always put some distance between them. It doesn't look like the glass is going to break any time soon.

 

At the knocking sound Lewis jerks his head up, and a bolt of pain immediately shoots through him. He has to clutch his head again, peering up through his mop of curly blonde hair, trying to see who’s out there through a haze of pain. At first he’s sure he’s hallucinating, the lack of food and the constant pummeling playing tricks on his brain.

 

Through the cracked and bloody glass he can see what looks like…a hairless cat, stretched into the proportions of a human, its pale skin tattooed along the arms and chest. Lewis winces, lowers his head again. He’s seen stranger in the parlors of the bastard who captured him, but he’ll be goddamned if he’ll perform again for any kind of creature, even starving, even at the edge of his endurance.

 

“Fuck off,” He mumbles, cradling his head in his hands. “I won’t do any more fucking tricks for you.”

 

Tricks? Crane stares dumbly down at the man in the cell. It dawns on him in only moments that this man has been taken and forced into this cage against his will after being forced to execute Titanium's manic will. He's certainly a sentient being, he spoke after all. But even for just a sapient creature this would be cruel. It boils his blood that Titanium thinks of himself so highly that he can treat other living creatures like this without remorse.

 

"How long have you been down here?" he asks, crouching down to the man's level so he's not looking down at him. He knows if he were the one collapsed in a cage he wouldn't much like being looked down on.

 

Lewis is stunned that the cat man (man cat?) is treating him like a human rather than a piece of furniture. It takes him a moment to respond, and the waves of pain still pounding in his head aren’t helping. He gathers himself and raises his head again, studying the cat further as he responds. The cat’s knelt down outside the glass, dropping its face below the starburst of cracks, and Lewis can see its intelligent green eyes studying him in return.

 

“Down here? About a week and a half. No food or nothing. Before that? Hell if I know. Why do you care?” He tries to summon vitriol into his last sentence, but he can’t make it. He’s beaten, and the fact that he’s beaten pisses him off more than anything. He drops his head again, avoiding the cat’s gaze, terrified of seeing any pity in those strange eyes.

 

Crane blinks at the other man, his brow furrowing in distaste. Most likely this man was considered a novelty by Titanium only for as long as he could hold the billionaire's attention. It's one thing to toss an item down into storage like this when he's done with it, _but a person?_ Crane is incensed.

 

"I'm going to bust you out," he says in lieu of explaining why he cares. The half-starved bleeding fella probably doesn't want to hear his diatribe on Titanium right now, or his existentialist belief in the value of life.

 

He looks around, slinking away from the cell. There has to be something down here he can use to bust the guy out. Something stronger than the glass, anything. He passes a giant solid gold life size moose, a skeleton of some kind of big bird, a sarcophagus made entirely out of glass filled with numbered ping pong balls, a chandelier built purposefully upside-down… it's impossible to imagine why Titanium wanted any of these things.

 

But then he spots a diamond necklace gathering dust and he backpedals. With a smile he snatches up the jewelry and hefts a giant lamp made entirely out of steel molded to look like antlers over one shoulder. He brings his loot back to the cage and takes up vigil at the front of the cage where the cracks already weakened the thick glass.

 

"Step back as far as you can," he says, gesturing for the other man to flatten himself to the far wall (not that the space is terribly large to begin with) "And shield your face."

 

He rests the giant lamp on the floor, setting the bulb and shade on a shelf before turning his attention to the glass. He centers the largest diamond in the middle of his palm and with a horrific screech, his ears flattening to his head, he scrapes a giant X into the glass over the spiderweb.

 

"Hold onto your horns," he tells the kid as he lifts the giant lamp, and with a mighty swing and a huge crash, he smashes the whole thing wide open and showers glass shards everywhere.

 

Lewis can hardly believe it when he sees the cat return with, of all things, a diamond necklace and a decorative lamp. But when he sees him scratch the diamond into the spreading crack in the glass, he can’t help but feel a flutter of hope in his heart. Even the awful screaming noise, far worse than nails on chalkboard, sounds like freedom. Following instructions, Lewis presses himself into the far corner of his small cell, standing on his bed and covering his face with his hands, trying to get as much distance as possible from the shatter zone. It isn't far enough.

 

As the cat smashes his lamp into the wall of the cell, the glass explodes inwards, spraying across the cell. Lewis’s flannel shirt and jeans (his last relics of Earth) protect him from the worst of it, but when he lowers his arms he’s still bleeding, and he winces as he digs one large shard of glass from the back of his wrist. He tries his best to remain standing as the cat gingerly picks his way across the floor, but he can’t help sinking down against the wall, breathing heavily. He forces himself to keep his head raised, keep eye contact with his rescuer.

 

With his toes situated firmly in spaces that don't have glass, Crane uses his tail to flick away the majority of the big shards. The kid's shoes will protect him from most of the little stuff. "Come on," he extends a hand to the young man. "You can't get out through the stairs, there's a camera there. You're lucky you're in the lowest level, not a lot of security here, but if you run off cocksure you'll get caught."

 

He helps Lewis through the glass, navigating on bare toes until he's away from the splash of glass shards. "To keep from getting my own backside skinned I'm going to need to report you're missing. Titanium probably won't look for you, he probably forgot you're even down here. But just in case, you'll need to hide." As he talks, he guides Lewis down through the rows, weaving in between cameras pointed at various items.

 

"I can show you how to get out through the sewers, but you won't know where to go to be safe on this planet so wait for me to come for you," he stops at a big metal door and tugs on the round dial until it creaks and begins to spin. He pulls the giant door open and the overwhelming stench of mold and old water wafts up on a freezing breeze out of the pitch darkness. He grabs a pack of old glowsticks from a nearby shelf and cracks one open. It immediately blazes to life with a brilliant green glow. He hands the whole pack to Lewis.

 

"Follow this pipe. Make no turns, take no exits, and eventually you'll reach the drop off where it empties into a lake. Stay there and I'll come for you tonight. Hell or high water. I won't let Titanium steal another young buck's future," he says, gesturing for Lewis to step into the dark sewer.

 

Lewis bristles at the cat’s authoritative tone, but it isn’t like he’s got a lot of other options – he’s completely out of his element and he knows it. He nods at the instructions, memorizing them as carefully as he can, as he wonders if he can trust the cat to make good on his promise. In the end, it doesn’t matter much – he’s better off than in the cage, and if the cat doesn’t come back he’ll make it somehow. The important things are this – the way out, and the name of the fucker who took him. Titanium. He’ll remember it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is vomit in this chapter, just as a warning

Lewis takes the pack of glowsticks and enters the sewers, shivering in the sudden freezing cold. He takes a moment to look back at his rescuer, who’s already walking back down the dimly lit hallway. It strikes him that he never got the cat’s name. But there’s no time for that now – who knows what kind of alarm systems Titanium has, who knows how much time he has to escape. He grits his teeth and grasps the cold steel of the sewer door, gasping as he pulls it shut, just glimpsing the cat’s tail as he turns a corner and is lost from view.

 

The glowsticks each last a long time, which is a fact that Lewis becomes grateful for as he navigates the sewers. He has to stop to rest every few minutes, the cold and damp sapping his strength even further. But he keeps to the main pipe, remembering the cat’s instructions, and reaches the drop-off point with two glowsticks to spare. He sinks down against the slimy wall of the pipe, letting his feet dangle off into space, steeling himself for the plunge into the icy and probably diseased waters below. Finally he lets himself drop.

 

The shock of hitting the water almost expels the air from his lungs, but he manages to hold his breath until he surfaces, and strikes out for the bit of metal catwalk that surrounds the large lake. The effort to haul himself up onto dry land is almost more than he can take. Summoning as much strength as he can, he pulls himself out of the freezing water and collapses on the grating, and lies there for a long, long time.

 

Crane rehearses his frightened story all the way back up to the upper levels of Titanium's mansion. How he was doing his job and saw something had escaped! He put the lamp and necklace back of course, everything in its place, so it just looked like the ram escaped on his own.

 

However, just as he suspected, Titanium brushed it off. "I'll get a new one," he said dismissively, which only further angered Crane, but he couldn't risk provoking Titanium's wrath. He can't risk being forced to stay overnight to do some menial task, he needs to be released at his regular hour so he can make his way to the lake and take that kid somewhere safe.

 

He has no choice but to work through the rest of the day, sorting old photographs of Titanium, as if he wasn't sick enough of the man's face. He worries all afternoon about the kid. He worries if he didn't make it to the lake. He worries that he might have drowned when he dropped into the water. He worries that he's lying dead on the shore. He worries that he was captured while he's stuck inside doing shit all. He worries that he ran off to try and make it on his own.

 

His worries twist him up inside. Even if his guilt and anxiety weren't enough to totally destroy his appetite, he wouldn't have eaten his dinner anyway. He wants to bring it to the young man, he said he hadn't eaten in nearly two weeks. He'll take him somewhere safe and give him a more proper meal later, but his smoked tilapia is better than nothing.

 

Finally he escapes the mansion and makes a beeline for the lake, his leather jacket shrugged over his shoulders. His worries finally go unfounded when he finds the young man perched on the metal walkway around the lake, looking decidedly exhausted, but proud to be free.

 

"I brought you some stuff," he tells the kid, kneeling down beside him and pulling out the tupperware containing his uneaten dinner. He opens his pack when the kid takes the container from him, and whips a blanket out, dropping it in the kid's lap rather than swaddling him like a child.

 

Lewis is honestly stunned at the cat’s reappearance – in the back of his mind, he’d been expecting to be abandoned again. He wraps the blanket around himself, secretly grateful to not have to hide the shivers wracking his body, and opens the tupperware, marveling at the fact that this is something he recognizes as tupperware, ten billion miles from earth. In a strange way, it’s almost comforting.

 

The smell that escapes when he opens it is…not appetizing, especially not to Lewis, who hasn’t eaten meat in the last five years and has never enjoyed seafood. But it’s food, and despite how it smells, his stomach gurgles and he feels himself salivating. He forgets the cat by his side for a moment, grabbing the fish with his bare hands and stuffing it into his mouth, tearing at the tender white meat. He’s eaten the entire sizeable portion before he realizes it, barely chewing, desperate to get some food into his stomach. It’s too rich, too meaty, but he swallows it nonetheless. He wipes his hands on his jeans, turning back to the cat, relieved to see no judgment on his face.

 

“Thanks,” He says. “I never got your name.”

 

"Just call me Crane," he offers the kid a hand and pulls him to his feet. He stashes the empty tupperware back in his pack and slings it over one shoulder. He holds his hands out to catch the wobbling youth in case he falls, but doesn't immediately grab for him. "And you?"

 

“Lewis. Lewis Black.” He says, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as he rises to his feet shakily. He stumbles against the cat – Crane – and is surprised by the warmth of him. Somehow he thought the other man’s skin would be clammy and cold. He doesn’t have time to think about it though - the movement sets his stomach churning, and he lurches forward, clutching at the railing of the metal scaffolding they’re standing on. It was a mistake to eat so quickly, he knows it; this isn’t the first time he’s been without food, although it’s certainly the longest. His stomach heaves and he chokes down the bile rising up in his throat, wanting to hang on to every scrap of food he can.

 

"Whoa, come on," Crane steps up beside the young man, and awkwardly pats his shoulder twice before gripping the bar. "If it's coming up, don't fight it, you'll only feel sicker. That was just a placeholder anyway, I'll take you back to my place and give you some real food and you'll have a real bed to sleep in. Quicker you let it come up quicker we can get you… grass or whatever sheep people eat."

 

“F’r fuck’s sake” Lewis mumbles, trying to ignore the waves of nausea pouring over him at the mention of more food, and more importantly the disgusting fishy taste still lingering in his mouth. It doesn’t work. He leans far over the railing, feeling the cold iron press into his stomach, and gags loudly, the sound almost echoing in the underground chamber.

 

The sound is followed by a loud belch, and Lewis jerks forward, letting loose everything he's just eaten. His stomach has stopped churning, at least for the moment, and he looks over at Crane, standing awkwardly beside him.

 

“Okay.” He says, wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve, “I’m good to go now.”

 

Crane gives a snort. "I guess you are," he says, gesturing up the grassy hill.

 

He leads the young man up the hill to his hover cruiser and unlocks it from a distance so Lewis can climb into the passenger's side. It's small, really no room for more than one other rider, and Crane immediately turns over the engine and pulls away from the lake.

 

"So where did Stark pluck you from?" he asks, looking over at the shivery young man as they make their way towards the city where his apartment is nestled. "And is getting back there endgame?"

 

Lewis pulls the blankets tighter around himself as Crane maneuvers the craft towards a city he’d never seen before. “I’m from Earth. I didn’t have any idea any of this – “ he gestures at the world around them, “- even existed. But now that I know it’s out here? Fuck if I care about going back.”

 

The food he managed to keep down is helping him feel better, more alert and aware, and he’s taking full stock of his surroundings for the first time since leaving his cell. Most important is his companion – he’s noticing Crane’s polite, well-bred air, the way his movements land neatly between those of another man and the cats Lewis had when he was a kid. As Crane drives them across the plains, he tries to take stock of his situation. So he’s out in the universe on some planet he doesn’t even know the name of, in the care of a hairless cat with tattoos and gold earrings. Well, at least he knows where his next meal is coming from. And, more importantly, the full name of the fucker that brought him here.

 

“Titanium Stark? That’s his name?” He asks, looking back at Crane for confirmation.

 

"Other way around," Crane chuckles as they pull into the streets and make their way through the traffic.

 

Lewis feels a tense smile stretch across his face. “Sounds like it’d fit good on a headstone.”

 

Crane's chuckle tapers off into an uncomfortable smile. "You and half the galaxy thinks so," he mutters, hands clenching on his steering wheel. "Man's got a lot of enemies. I'm on board with you, the sooner he dies the sooner a lot of people are released from indentured goddamn servitude. But he's richer than God himself and pays half the planet good money to protect his sorry hide. You wouldn't make it up his front steps. Right now let's focus on a good night's sleep and a hot meal before we go planning any revenge schemes, okay?"

 

If he figured Crane was being condescending, Lewis wouldn’t have been able to swallow it, but he sees the expression on the older man’s face and the way his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. He nods, settling back in his seat and staring at the city rising up above them.

 

“Yeah,” He says quietly, “I can wait.”


	3. Chapter 3

Crane's apartment isn't exactly thrilling. It's a medium-sized one-room studio apartment with great big windows that make up the entire far wall. He doesn't appear to have any lights in his apartment, but considering he lives right downtown he honestly doesn't need them because all of the neon signs shine so brightly through the humungous windows that it's practically daylight. The kitchen, living room and bedroom are all one big room, with a slightly elevated areas for what probably should have been a couch if it were a human's apartment, but it's just three massive bean bag chairs instead gathered around a very tiny TV propped up on an empty cereal tin.

 

"Bathroom's in there if you gotta piss," Crane indicates a tiny closet-sized room with a standing shower crammed beside a toilet. "No sink in there so you have to wash your hands in the kitchen sink, but it's whatever."

 

He doesn't have to give much of a tour. His apartment is fairly bare, it gives the impression that it's not terribly well lived-in. Which is true, Crane spends most of his time out and about. The most remarkable piece of furniture is a cat bed, only human-sized, complete with a little hole in the front where his mattress lays inside in a nest of blankets and pillows. Beside the oversized cat bed is what is clearly a giant scratching post made out of the trunk of a tree, and a well-used one at that.

 

" My fridge is pretty bare right now so I'll have to pick up something for you. Write down anything you want, sky's basically the limit, I got paid yesterday."

 

Initially Lewis is caught off guard by how ordinary the apartment is – Crane even has fridge magnets, for christ’s sake. But when he sees the cat bed he can’t help bursting into laughter. “Is that seriously where you sleep?” He exclaims, pointing at the oversized pillowy structure. Crane glares at him, and he shakes his head. “Sorry, but… man, do you keep catnip and mice in there too?”

 

"Mice don't last long in my apartment," Crane says, dropping his pack on the tiny kitchen table and shrugging his leather jacket off to hang it on a hook beside the fridge. "I haven't touched catnip in years, and yes. That is where I sleep. If that's a problem, you can pull of a patch of hardwood floor."

 

“I’ve had worse.” Lewis shrugs, genuinely too surprised by the existence of catnip in this world to press Crane much further. He’s beginning to see the cat as a challenge, wondering how to get a rise out of him. Although he probably shouldn’t push it, seeing as how Crane is his only contact (friend? Let’s not go that far just yet) out here. He does decide to press his luck as far as similarities with earth, though.

 

“Do you guys have takeout here? Can you get me some pho? Or I mean, seeing as how we’re a billion light years from Vietnamese food, just any kind of vegetable soup would be good.”

 

"Vegetable soup?" Crane looks over at the young man. "World's your oyster and you pick vegetable- oh, crap. You're a nibbler, aren't you?"

 

When Lewis just stares at him blankly over the strange slang, Crane gives a sound of mild frustration, snapping his fingers. "Shit, what's the word. Rabbit food eater. Throw me a bone here, I grew up around carnivores."

 

“Yeah, I can tell.” Lewis says, eyeing Crane’s sharp teeth. “The word’s vegetarian. Which, by the way, thanks for the fish but please don’t ever give me fish again. Or oysters.” He has to suppress a gag at the thought of it, but shakes it off quickly. The thought of a hot bowl of vegetable soup makes his stomach growl audibly and he coughs to cover it.

 

“I’ll pay you back…” He trails off, trying to figure out a promise he can keep. It wouldn’t be the first time Lewis has crashed at someone else’s apartment, or sponged off them for food, or walked out on a debt. But he’s never owed someone this much before. “I’ll make it up to you somehow.” He finally says, ducking his head to hide the blush that roars across his face. Where the hell did that come from?

 

"Don’t worry about paying me back," Crane shakes his head as he empties his pack and puts a couple empty cloth sacks inside to transport the food home with. "Titanium ruined my life when I was your age. You can pay me back by having a future."

 

He shrugs his pack back onto his shoulder and tugs a stocking cap over his head to keep his ears warm as he steps back out into the cooling night air in pursuit of this 'Vietnamese' thing the kid had mentioned.

 

 

 

=====

 

 

 

Balancing four bags up the stairs to his apartment has never been easy, but Crane refuses to take trips. He shoulders open the door to his apartment and finds Lewis lounging across one of his bean bag chairs. He snaps up immediately at the sight, and more importantly, smell of the bags.

 

"I got a crapload cause I didn't know how long you'd be here and figured you could take with you whatever if you want to leave tomorrow," Crane explains the large load. He dumps one on the counter, filled with a few groceries for himself, and drops the other three on the kitchen table. "I found your Vietnamese thing, it took me a while but there's one restaurant in the whole city. I got your pho thing, sans beef, stir fried bean sprout, deep fried potato," as he speaks he takes containers out of the bags and lays them out. "Taro soup, steamed rice pancakes, fried sweet tofu, mushrooms and sticky rice, cabbage rolls, kiem, and pumpkin soup. I basically ordered everything that didn't have meat."

 

Lewis feels his eyes almost bulging out of his head as Crane deposits one styrofoam container after another on his counter, listing what’s in each one. He’s always been partial to Vietnamese food, ever since he worked in a pho restaurant before he dropped out of high school, and to find it here, after god knows how long of gruel in Titanium’s care and then a week and a half of nothing at all? It takes all of his self control to keep from grabbing the containers out of Crane’s clawed hands.

 

He gets himself together enough to mutter “Thanks”, trying to keep the pitiful note out of his voice. The smell when he opens the lid of the pho bowl is heavenly, and he closes his eyes, smiling as he takes it in. Then he’s pouring in the noodles and vegetables, mixing them in and forcing himself to wait until the steaming broth cooks them properly. Instead he turns to the cabbage rolls, devouring them, savoring the taste of garlic and mushrooms and tofu, all these things he’s missed. He doesn’t look up at Crane. He doesn’t trust himself to try and talk. And besides, all he wants to do is eat.

 

Crane had expected the kid would be ravenous, but it's another thing to actually see it. He chuckles and pats Lewis on the back when he coughs up a bit of rice stuck in his throat. "Don't eat so fast you choke. The food's not going anywhere."

 

He sets a water bottle on the table to help aid Lewis when he inevitably ignores Crane's advice and continues to scarf like it's his last meal alive. He can relate with the kid, he's been that hungry before. He's certainly not going to judge him for barely chewing.

 

Instead, he pulls out his own container of shrimp dumplings and soy sauce, and sits across from Lewis at the table. He drizzles the salty oil on the dumplings and spears one with a fork, eating slowly and carefully compared to Lewis' frenetic pace.

 

After demolishing the cabbage rolls, Lewis takes a sip of water before turning his attention to his pho. With the edge taken off his hunger, he’s able to actually talk to Crane while he eats, but he’s still mostly preoccupied with forking noodles and vegetables into his mouth.

 

“So – mmph – who are you anyway? What’re you doing in that asshole’s palace? Does he know I got out?” He says, through a mouthful of broccoli.

 

"He knows," Crane says, pocketing a mouthful in his cheek to speak before swallowing. "He doesn't care."

 

He draws his legs up cross-legged as he eats, his tail tapping lightly against the floor as it swishes contentedly behind him. "As for me," he takes another nibble from a dumpling. "I'm just one of his slaves. Bag men. I'm a mercenary. People pay me to do things for them and he gets a cut of the profits. A really, really _big_ cut," he finishes somewhat bitterly and jams another dumpling in his jaws.

 

“Hey, at least you aren’t on display.” Lewis gives Crane a humorless grin and then returns to his soup. He’s starting to slow down just a little – he can feel his stomach bulging, unused to having anything in it at all, but he ignores it. Right now the important thing is that Crane works for the enemy. That means no matter what else he’s done for Lewis so far, he can’t be fully trusted.

 

“So he’s got some kind of hold on you, right? I mean, you don’t sound like you love the job,” Lewis says, and takes another gulp of broth.

 

Crane frowns down at his dumplings, feeling his appetite fading. "Yeah, I'm stuck," he mutters, chasing his food around the bowl with his fork. "He's got me by the whiskers. Made a bad choice when I was your age and now I've been stuck for almost twenty years."

 

He’s curious about the bad decision, but Lewis figures for once he won’t press his luck. No matter what Crane’s story or how trustworthy he is, he’s the only option, at least for the night, and the way he’s looking down makes Lewis trust him just a little more. Lewis suddenly feels his stomach protest the amount of food he’s packed into it after having starved for weeks.

 

“Hey, c’n I use your bathroom?” he asks, embarrassed, and when Crane motions towards his bathroom, he almost dashes inside, closing the door as carefully as he can.

 

Crane looks up in time to see the kid making a beeline for the bathroom. He sighs and covers his soup for him to keep it warm when he hears the door slam shut. Moments later, he hears retching. He rolls his eyes. Of course the kid would puke again after eating so fast.

 

He grabs a towel from his clean laundry and moseys over to the bathroom. He leans over on the door jamb and raps against the wood with his knuckles. "You have to hold down the handle to flush," he says through the wood. When he gets another round of retching in the place of acknowledgement, he sighs, "Can I open the door, I've got a towel for you."

 

Lewis is already embarrassed enough about having to sprint for the bathroom, but when he hears Crane rapping on the door, Lewis wants to sink into the cool tile floor and die. The only thing that saves him is the casual tone he hears, and the admittedly helpful advice about the toilet. He can’t answer – he’s too busy fighting to keep all the food he’s just eaten in his stomach. When Crane asks if he can come in, Lewis forgets himself and nods, before realizing his mistake. He manages to choke out a “Yes” before bowing over the toilet again.

 

"Want me to hold your hair?" Crane asks the young man. When he gets a feeble gurgle and a nod of Lewis' head in reply, he sinks down to kneel on the tile beside the kid. He sets the folded towel on the bathroom rug beside Lewis and runs his hand through his fluffy hair from the forehead back to collect as much as he can and hold it back. "You know, if the position's ever reversed, I expect you'll return the favor and hold my hair too."

 

“What-“ Lewis coughs and spits, “what hair are we talking about here?” He has to turn back to the toilet again immediately, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Y-you’re pulling my hair out.” He mumbles, swallowing hard. It’s a lie – Crane’s being unexpectedly gentle with his head – but he has to save face somehow. “T-trying…to make us match?”

 

Crane chuckles a little and re-collects a few missed strands between the waves of Lewis' sickness. He's silent for a while, just letting the kid breathe and collect himself and cling to his last vestiges of dignity.

 

"A long time ago," he says, starting into a story with no real reason, he just wants to talk to fill the silence and keep the kid from being too critical of himself. "I was a little bit older than you. I was real low on cash and I hadn't eaten in a couple days, when I saw a hot dog eating contest was in the town I was in. Three bucks to enter, and I figured it'd be the cheapest meal I ever had. I'd enter, scarf as many hot dogs as I could, and I'd be good for days."

 

He pauses in his story to nudge the towel against Lewis' knee with his tail to remind him to wipe his face. "Only problem was I didn't take into account how while I might not need to eat for days, I was also unable to move. First thing I did when I got back to my hotel room after eating so many hot dogs I couldn't stand up right was puke for half an hour straight, and I was still bloated as hell. Slipped into a short coma for a couple days and slept all of it off before I was right back where I started, but three dollars short. Moral of the story is if you eat too much too fast after you haven't eaten in a while, you puke. Maybe now you'll relax and take it a little slower when you feel up to trying again. Eating doesn't do you much good if you can't keep it down."

 

“Thanks, man,” Lewis says sarcastically. “N-never woulda figured that out on my own.” He closes his eyes, trying to slow his breathing. He’s shaking again, his tongue thick in his mouth. The story hasn’t exactly helped with his nausea (the last thing he needed while trying not to puke his guts out was someone telling him about an eating contest), but he does feel a little more ok with the situation. Crane genuinely seems not to be judging him, or worse, taking care of him, at least not in a way he minds so much.

 

Eyes still closed, Lewis leans back a little, carefully, not trusting his stomach with even a tiny movement. “It’s not the first time I’ve been starving, y’know.” His own raspy voice surprises him almost as much as the admission. “Back on earth I was on the street for a while. Nothing like this, I mean. Just a day or two without a meal. Never ran across a hot dog eating contest.” His laugh turns into a cough, which turned into a gag. When he has a chance to breathe, he starts laughing again. “Cat eats dogs, huh?” He chokes. “No wonder you puked.”

 

Crane smirks humorlessly as he picks up the towel and unfolds it around Lewis' shoulders to hopefully ward off some of the shaking. He pads off into the kitchen and returns with the water, encouraging Lewis to rinse his mouth out and take a couple swallows to clear his throat. Then he's up and off again, picking a smaller throw blanket out of his spherical bed and he tosses it on the bathroom floor before sliding down to a seat. He stays outside the bathroom this time, his back leaned against the corner of the open door jamb and he props his elbows up on his bent knees.

 

It’s a little easier to breathe now – Lewis' stomach doesn’t feel great, but it’s manageable. He sniffs and reaches for the blanket, glad Crane can’t see how weakly he’s moving. One thing’s for sure: he’s going to need a lot of recovery before he can do anything about Titanium. He wraps the blanket around himself and leans his head back against the bathroom wall, his knees pulled up against his stomach. He can just see the edge of Crane’s skinny shoulder outside the door. 

 

“Sorry I wasted the food you got.” He says quietly.

 

Crane shrugs a shoulder. "You were starved, this was inevitable. I got plenty, you can eat later. Think you can get to the bed?" He offers a hand to the larger man and hauls him to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder once he's standing. He stays by his side to catch the woozy young man in case he falls, but he makes it all the way to the bed where he crawls in through the opening at the front.

 

Crane busies himself in the kitchen, putting everything in the fridge and stacking it orderly. When the last of it is cleared away, without shame he climbs in through the opening to the bed and accompanies Lewis in the large space. Upon seeing the other man's shocked expression, he huffs a little laugh. "I said you could sleep in my bed, that doesn't mean I'm not sleeping in it too. I'm not a martyr."

 

“Just wasn’t sure if you had an extra cat hotel stashed around here somewhere,” Lewis says. He's leaning against the soft outer wall of the bed, resting his head on his knees, looking like a large pile of blankets with a head sticking out. He shifts to give Crane some more space, and looks at him carefully.

 

“Just so you know, I’m not gonna fuck you,” He says. Although if he didn’t feel like shit, if he knew Crane a little better, if they were even… well, it might be a different story But Crane didn’t need to know that.

 

Crane scoffs a laugh. "Presumptuous little squirt, aren't you? Half-starved, half my age, you don't even know if I'm gay, and you think I want to fuck you. I remember being that cocky," he chuckles as he starts to rearrange the heaps of blankets. It only takes a moment for Lewis to realize that he's _kneading_.

 

“Just wanted to be clear is all,” Lewis says distractedly, watching Crane’s fingers flex. He figures he shouldn’t be surprised by the guy being catlike – certainly not as a man with horns and sheep ears – but he’s oddly charmed when he sees Crane kneading. It reminds him of the cats he had growing up. He wonders if Crane is going to stand on all fours and turn in a circle before he sleeps. He realizes he’s been staring.

 

Crane looks over at the young man and clicks his tongue. He's a right mess. Blood flaked on his forehead from a few cuts where he'd smashed his skull into the glass cell, vomit caked on his chin and neck, his hair is a mess. Every muscle in his body itches to fix it.

 

"C'mere," he drags Lewis down by the front of his shirt. When the young man panics, he swats away his desperate attempts to smack Crane away. "Relax, I told you I don't want to fuck you. You need cleaning."

 

Without any other warning, he leans down and begins to groom Lewis. His long bristled tongue laves over the young man's forehead, cleaning away the dried blood and lapping at the still-open wounds to hopefully reduce some of the pain.

 

At first Lewis stiffens, tensing nervously when he feels Crane’s rough tongue lapping at his forehead. The feeling is definitely weird, but not uncomfortable – he’s not sure what he expected, but it’s just like… getting licked by a cat. Albeit a cat that’s almost his height. After a moment, when Crane makes no further moves to touch him, he relaxes and drops his head, letting Crane get at the cuts on his hairline and between his horns.

 

Crane’s licking is strangely relaxing and gentle on his wounds. Lewis feels his eyelids getting heavy, and notices he’s finally stopped shaking.

 

After a few moments when Crane's grooming drops from his wounds to lick away dried vomit, a strange sound fills the space, and Lewis realizes Crane is purring. It's a deep, rumbling sound, like the vibrating of a generator engine, loud and powerful in his chest. His eyes are closed as he works, settling down to lie on his side as he continues to wash Lewis' face with his warm sandpaper tongue. His tongue isn't terribly wet, he doesn't seem to have a lot of saliva in his mouth, so he doesn't drench Lewis as he cleans him quietly, purring.

 

It's nice, Crane thinks as he nudges Lewis' cheekbone with his cold nose to get him to turn his head so he can wash his tongue over his velvety ear and down his neck to clean away more of the leftover puke. He hasn't gotten to groom anyone in a long time, and it's always a pleasurable experience. He doesn't realize he's gently kneading Lewis' chest as he cleans him.

 

Lewis closes his eyes too, leaning his head over so Crane can get at his neck. The sensation of the cat’s tongue and low, rumbling purr against his skin feels amazing, now that he’s a little more used to it. Even the hands slowly clenching and unclenching the fabric on his shirt feels good. It’s the first moment of true relaxation he’s had in a long time, and even if it’s weird, he feels… safe. Comfortable. Crane’s purring fills the warm bed and Lewis finds himself smiling slightly as the older man laps at his ear.

 

His hand rises automatically to Crane’s head and he begins stroking the other man’s smooth, velvety skin, pleasantly surprised at the feel of it – he’d always thought hairless cats would feel just like human skin, but there’s a thin fuzz of fur covering Crane’s skin. Crane’s purring increases in intensity, and Lewis scratches him lightly behind the ear.

 

Crane's tail thumps lightly on the bed as he moves from the young man's ear up to his hair to fix the mess of curls. It's damp and disgusting with sweat and blood and filthy lake water. It occurs to Crane suddenly that he should have had the man change his clothes before he let him in his bed after wading through a sewer for a couple hours, but he can't be assed to move right now.

 

He works through the mess of curls, cleaning and straightening them, working through patch after patch. He's probably lulled the kid to sleep by now, but he intends to continue until he's finished. He takes a break from the mop of hair to clean away a little fresh blood on his forehead, twitching his ears pleasantly whenever Lewis reawakens long enough to scratch him.

 

It's been a very long time since anybody has touched him like that. It's a sweet sensation, without expectation or need, and he tilts his head into it. Lost in the feelings of camaraderie and closeness, he rubs his cheek against Lewis' jaw down to his neck. Realizing what he's just done, his eyes snap open and he pulls back, but either the young man doesn't know Crane just marked his territory on instinct, or he doesn't care.

 

Feeling blood rush to his face, Crane quickly goes back to grooming the knots and sludge out of his hair, his purring even more intense now with embarrassment.

 

Lewis groans quietly in pleasure as Crane nuzzles at his neck. It’s involuntary and unconscious – he’s so exhausted and taken away in the moment that he doesn’t notice. But he realizes immediately when Crane pulls away for a second. Fuck. The king of mixed signals strikes again.

 

Luckily Crane seems ready enough to ignore it, quickly returning to lapping at his hair, and Lewis is more than willing not to make a big deal. He feels his head nodding again, Crane’s purring and the warmth of the bed lulling him back to sleep. His hand drops from Crane’s ears and he shifts slowly, letting his aching muscles relax. Crane supports him as he changes position, lying curled on his side, his head bowed so Crane can continue grooming him.

 

With a whole new side of the head to explore, Crane spends the next hour or so just grooming away, clearing away all the dead and filthy hair. It's a long and not terribly rewarding process, but at least the kid is getting some much needed rest. When at last the very last of his hair is cleaned and he's made a final pass over his face and neck for any lingering filth, he rolls over and curls in a ball to get some sleep.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Always an early riser, Crane is up before Lewis. He can't blame the kid, he'll let him sleep as long as he wants to. He pulls a cord and a little flap comes down over the opening of the bed that will shield Lewis from the light that shines in through the giant windows.

  
It takes Lewis a moment to figure out where he is when he wakes up. It’s dark, it’s warm, something smells good, his body aches, and one of his cats left fur in his mouth. Then he remembers his cats are across the galaxy at his dad’s house, and the events of yesterday catch up with him. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he clambers his way out of the oversized cat bed, brushing aside the cloth flap over the entrance.

  
In the early morning light he can see Crane standing in his kitchen making breakfast. His instincts to repay Crane kick into high gear. “I can get breakfast together, if you want to lie down, or…” He trails off.

  
"You're filthy from hiking in the sewers and I can smell it on you and those clothes," Crane says evenly. "I'll finish up breakfast, you go un-stench."He stretches his arms over his head, arching his back and giving a wide yawn. "The dial on the shower got installed backwards or something, you have to turn it to blue to get warm water. By the time you get out breakfast will be ready for you. Don't dawdle, go on."

  
Lewis shakes his head and accedes, heading for the bathroom. “Just tell me if I can help,” he calls back over his shoulder. He hopes Crane will actually take him up on it, but he honestly can’t tell. The shower soothes his aching muscles and for the first time in weeks he feels truly clean – the tongue bath of last night was nice but nothing beats an actual shower. Lewis hears Crane come in and deposit something on the toilet lid before shutting the door again, and when he steps out of the shower, toweling his hair gingerly around the cuts on his scalp, he finds a neatly folded pile of clothing.

 

Five seconds later he’s leaning out the door of the bathroom, one hand holding up the towel wrapped around his waist, the other brandishing a pair of parachute pants at Crane, who’s at the stove. “Are you fucking with me? Are you serious?” He complains, shaking the pants. “You don’t have anything else?”

 

Crane looks back over at the younger man with a sigh, leaning on the counter with one hand. "You're twice my size," he calls back over to him, his voice coming out a little shaky. "I don't readily keep around clothes five sizes too big. It's just for a day, I can run out and get you something tonight or tomorrow, don't be a bitch about it. It's just a pair of pants."

 

Lewis rolls his eyes and ducks back into the bathroom, pulling on the pants and the tank top he’s been provided. He re-enters the main room walking awkwardly, trying to get used to the way the pants fit him. “I gotta tell you, man, your sense of style is something else.”

 

Crane sticks his tongue out and pads over to his tiny closet to pull out a fresh pair of loose grey sweat pants and brings them into the bathroom with him so he can take his own shower. The hot water is heavenly, and halfway through he realizes his hunger has returned. He brushes his teeth and rinses his mouth until his tongue just about falls out before finally climbing out and redressing.

 

He exits the bathroom with his towel draped around his shoulders, his sweat pants riding low on his slim hips. He sits at the table again beside Lewis and starts grooming, pawing at his whiskers to get them all dry and facing the right direction.

 

"How are you feeling? Still hungry?" Crane asks when Lewis clears his plate. When he gets a head shake from the younger man he takes his plate to the sink and dumps it inside. "I've got to go to work today, I have an assignment direct from Stark himself. Something to do with some kind of expensive eggs, I don't know. You have to stay inside for a while because if you're spotted by anyone who would recognize you, your skull will wind up as a decorative mug on Stark's coffee table."

 

“I thought you said he didn’t miss me?” Lewis asked, partially out of irritation about his bruised shins and partly out of genuine interest. “Anyway, I’ve never been out of his palace of bullshit before this, does it even matter?” When Crane gives him a serious look, Lewis sighs. “Look, I’ll stay in, okay? Just, can you please get me some real pants and a t-shirt or something? I’ll make you dinner, I’ll clean your house, whatever it takes for some actual clothes.”

 

"I'll buy you some clothes," Crane says as he starts to pack a lunch to shove into his pack. "You don't need to do anything to earn jeans, you're a person. You deserve your own clothes."

 

Lewis looks away, swallowing what he was about to say – that he’s not used to deserving things, even before coming here, even before Titanium. That he expected to work for everything. That handouts terrify him because he knows there’ll be a price to pay later. Instead he stares at the ground and nods.

 

“I mean, it’s not that big of a deal. At least you didn’t keep me in the same shit for a month for ‘authenticity of the specimen.’” He doesn’t realize how bitter his voice sounds until the words are out of his mouth. He’s still probing the depths of his anger against Titanium, it turns out.

 

Crane sighs and heads over to his closet to pull out a tank top similar to the one he gave Lewis, loose and baggy on his slim frame. "Look, I get that you're angry at Titanium. That anger isn't ever going to go away, believe me. Twenty years later and I'm still mad at him. But you can't let it consume you or you'll never be able to live your life."

 

Despite trusting that Crane has his reasons, Lewis can’t help the shock of anger that runs down his spine. “I think I’m allowed to be pissed at the guy, okay? At least a month, probably longer, as a slave, as a joke, and then chucked in a cage to starve to death? I’m not gonna pretend like my life was amazing before this but at least I was a fucking person.” He turns away, embarrassed by his outburst. He doesn’t want to look at Crane because he knows he’ll see that feline face filled with mature understanding, maybe even acceptance, and he doesn’t want to see it. If he sees it he’ll break down. He’ll be vulnerable. He’ll lose his anger. And he can’t afford to do that yet.

 

Crane sighs again. "I know," he says softly, resisting the urge to touch Lewis's turned back. "I'm not going to play Trauma Olympics with you, but trust me I've gotten my fair share of shit from Titanium, too. I know what you're feeling. I'm not telling you to not be angry, just… be cautious with your anger. You can't take your anger with you when you die, the time you've got now is what you've got. I don't want you to waste it on a vendetta."

 

He ties his sweat pants off at the knees and finagles his tail through the hole hemmed into the waist band so they'll stay up. "Just… watch tv or something." With his leather jacket on, he slings his bag over his shoulder and pauses at the door. He looks over his shoulder and gives Lewis a pointed look. "Be good," he tells him, and then he's gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Lewis spends the first hour steaming. Crane is treating him like a child. It’s absurd and infuriating, even with everything he owes Crane. Maybe especially with everything he owes Crane. He’s not going to be passed from one “master” to another. But Crane doesn’t seem like he’s keeping him as a pet – he treats him like a person, if not exactly an equal. At least, so far.

 

After a while Lewis’s anger gives way to boredom and curiosity, and he begins prowling the apartment, snooping into Crane’s drawers and dressers. He finds a box full of compasses at the bottom of Crane’s small closet, which strikes him as odd but not particularly interesting. More curious is the parcel of letters he encounters buried in a drawer under rows of neatly folded shirts – letters from “Billy” to “Barty” and vice versa.

 

He knows he should leave them alone, respect Crane’s privacy a little more, but he can’t help himself – he sits cross-legged on Crane’s floor and leafs through the letters, taking care to keep them in order. From context he figures that Billy is Crane, which… isn’t what he’d expect for a first name at all. Crane’s handwriting is also not what he’d expected – it’s rounded and messy, and filled with minor spelling errors and crossed out sections. Barty, whose handwriting is neat and even, must be his brother. It’s obvious that the two are close, and that Crane’s had a complicated relationship with the rest of his family.

 

Lewis reads about Crane being disowned, about Barty’s successful sports career and, more interestingly, Crane’s career as a mercenary. As he reads further into Crane’s descriptions of his servitude under Titanium, Lewis starts to understand how the other man could caution him against anger. He goes through tales of attempted rebellion and honest mistakes, and the costs of it on Crane – twenty years of beatings, humiliation, and finally acceptance. Lewis can’t help feeling a rush of shame comparing it to his short time in Titanium’s “care”.

 

After he’s explored every inch of the apartment there’s nothing to do but wait. Which he does. For almost three days. In the interim he has plenty of time to go from frustration, to fear for Crane’s safety (What if he got caught helping me? What if he’s dead because of letting me out? He said Titanium didn’t care but he could have lied. What if he’s sold me out?), to understanding that once again, he’s been left behind. It shouldn’t hurt, at this point.

 

His dad used to disappear for days on end back in Iowa, and after a while he’d just accepted it, cut himself off from caring, same as when his mom had vanished when he was a kid. But he’s been stupid enough to trust Crane, despite knowing from the start it was a bad idea. He tries to figure out how to leave and head out on his own, but even after three days he’s still relatively weak, and besides that, he doesn’t know where anything is, he doesn’t have any money, he doesn’t even know if they use dollars here. He’s stuck. He’s gone from being one man’s pet to another’s. So when Crane walks in the door the next morning, Lewis doesn’t acknowledge him with so much as a look.

 

Crane didn't exactly expect a warm welcome. He hadn't meant to be gone for several days in a row, but Titanium flung him out into deep space with dramatic expectations and a hefty punishment for failure. Plus with a payday like the one he received it was worth it. He'd be able to buy the kid a whole damn wardrobe, now, and he'd take him out to dinner to apologize for being gone so long.

 

Or, he would have, if Lewis would give him the time of day. He figures he'll let the kid stew for a while and makes a beeline for the shower to clean three days worth of sweat out of his fuzz. Freshly showered and in clean clothes, he returns to find Lewis still sulking.

 

"Hey, come on," he figure he might as well break the silence sooner rather than later. "It's not my fault I was gone as long as I was. I don't have a phone here or I would have called you to let me know. Titanium sent me off on a wild goose chase."

 

Lewis doesn’t say anything. He feels the hurt rising up in his chest and tries to ignore it – he didn’t ask to care, he shouldn’t care, he shouldn’t have expected anything. It keeps echoing through his head: he’s a pet. He’s a curiosity. He’s a kept plaything. He’s an object. He knew how to dodge it on earth but things are different here, and he needs to learn better – needs to remember how to keep his distance and be alone.

 

At least he can remember how to hurt.

 

“So how long til you start showing me off to your friends?” He says quietly, still not looking at Crane. “Should I get my little act together, like I did for Titanium? Or did you want to skip over the whole freakshow thing and go right to throwing me in a hole and forgetting about me?”

 

Crane blinks at the young man, trying for several seconds to wrap his head around what he just said. He feels like he missed five minutes of a conversation, like there's some gap between what he said and how Lewis responded and he's not sure what went in the middle.

 

"I… beg your pardon?" he says cautiously.

 

“You told me don’t go out. So I didn’t. And then you left for three days.” Lewis tries to keep the genuine hurt out of his voice, but he’s not sure he can do it. He’s angry at himself for caring, for thinking Crane would be any better, for sticking around even though he could have left any time. “So I stayed. Because I’m stupid. And you’re back like it’s no big deal. Look, I get it, I owe you everything right now, but…” he trails off, not even sure what he’s trying to say.

 

"I told you not to go out because you could get recaptured and killed," Crane says evenly. "It's not safe for you to go out alone until I know for sure that Titanium won't want you back on sight. I told you it's not my fault I've been gone so long, I'm not allowed to tell Stark to fuck off, no isn't an option. When he tells me to jump I have to ask how high or I'll get- "

 

He cuts himself off with a sigh before he raises his voice and rubs his hands over his face, smoothing out his wrinkles for a moment before they all sag back into place.

 

Lewis still hasn’t looked at Crane. He runs one hand through his long curly hair, trying to get himself together enough to just finally leave, trying to forget what he read about Crane in the letters he’d carefully replaced in his drawer yesterday.

 

“I know. Sorry. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble. I really don’t. But…” He makes a gruff noise of frustration at his inability to get the words right. “I’m not a pet is all. I’m not gonna be kept like this. Even if it’s for my own protection or whatever, I get it, but I’m a fucking person and I’m not your toy no matter how well intentioned you think you are. Okay? So just give me an out, tell me where I can go, and I’m gone.” With the last words Lewis’s tone turns vicious, intended to hurt, and he finally turns his head to look Crane in the eyes.

 

Sting it does. Crane's ears flatten against his head. He'd sort of been looking forward to coming back to the kid. He's been living alone for so many years he'd forgotten how nice it was to have company. "You want to leave," he mutters, looking away and rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I could… take you to a Deep Space Station and buy you a ticket wherever you want to go but I mean… you'd be on your own at that point."

 

Lewis is torn between relief and a stupid, unreasonable sense of abandonment. He asked to go, so why is he upset when Crane takes him up on it? If he were in Crane’s place, he’d have dumped himself off at the nearest bus station (or whatever they had here) long ago. But there’s something in Crane’s expression that makes Lewis’s heart jump guiltily in his chest.

 

“Look, I meant… fuck.” He turns away again. It’s easier not to face Crane, to keep his eyes focused on the floor.

 

“I don’t… I just don’t want to be a prisoner,” He mumbles. “I don’t want to be your pet that waits patiently for you to get home, I don’t… I can take care of myself. I know you don’t believe it. I know you think I’m just a kid. But I can handle myself. I just… I can’t be a pet again.” He stares at the floor, teeth clenched, shoulders hunched, steeling himself to be either abandoned or confined, telling himself not to hope for anything else.

 

Crane's first instinct is to insist that of course Lewis isn't his pet, he's treated him with as much respect as possible. His first instinct is to feel affronted and to shout at the kid for being ungrateful- but he stops himself. He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

 

In the back of his mind, his grandfather's words float through. Like he spoke them yesterday.

_If you want to understand a man, put his shoes on._

 

Lewis has been abducted, abused and assaulted. He's been put in a cage. He was taken from that cage and… put in a bigger cage, with cable TV and a bed, but a cage nonetheless. Crane feels his irritation deflating as he follows the thought process.

 

"You're right," he says quietly, opening his eyes. "I believe you. You're tough as nails, I could see it in you when I saw you in that cage. Not every man would use his skull to try and break a glass wall. I know I wouldn't have." He steps forward and puts his hand on Lewis' shoulder. "Toughness doesn't count for much if you're hilariously outnumbered, though. Let's go out together tonight, I can show you who to look for when you're out on your own. Titanium's men all have a pretty distinct look about them."

 

Lewis tenses further when he feels Crane’s hand on his shoulder. It takes him a moment to understand what Crane’s saying – what he’s offering. A chance at revenge, a chance at getting something back, some tiny measure of dignity, even if it’s hard won. And, maybe even more importantly, respect. Lewis exhales heavily. He doesn’t look up – he can’t risk seeing mockery or condescension in Crane’s face, even if there’s none in his voice. But he relaxes slowly, letting the tension out of his muscles, rubbing his neck while awkwardly looking away.

 

“Okay,” He says quietly. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more.

 

"Okay," Crane repeats with a nod of his head and claps Lewis' shoulder. "I see you changed back into your own clothes," he mutters, trying to lighten the mood. "They look cleaner, though. Did you wash them in the shower or something? It doesn't matter, it's good enough to wear for us to buy you some new clothes."

 

He's not sure why he feels so nervous. Lewis didn't really react too much, maybe he's just waiting for the explosion. Or maybe Lewis is trying to be mature about it. Either way, he can commend the kid for actually calling him out on his behavior.

 

"Hey," he stoops a little under the taller man's chin so he can look him in the eye. "Thank you. For sticking up to me."

 

Lewis raises his head slightly, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. “It wasn’t for your sake.” He mutters, caught off guard not so much by Crane’s words but the way he’s acting, the almost anxious expression on the cat’s face. He tells himself not to fall into this trap of caring about Crane again, even a little bit, but the question slips out nonetheless.

 

“What’ll happen to you if I go after Titanium? You said you have to jump when he tells you. Or what?”

 

Crane's nostrils flare. He supposes he might as well answer honestly. "Titanium doesn't need me specifically. The only reason I'm still alive is because I obey. I'm just… a pawn. I'm expendable."

 

Lewis looks down at the ground again. He’s quiet for a moment, considering. What he read in those letters was proof enough that Crane took a substantial risk in freeing him, no matter how little Titanium cares about his loss. And the fact that Crane’s going to help still… and he hasn’t asked for anything in return. That’s what makes Lewis nervous, but couldn’t it also be a good sign? Unless Crane is going to cash in on it somehow. But if he wanted to, he could have by now.

 

“Sorry,” Lewis mumbles. “I’m being a prick. You risked your neck for me and… look, let’s just go get some clothes. Just let me pay you back when I can.” His face is burning as he stands up, still avoiding Crane’s wide green eyes.

 

Crane doesn’t tell the kid he doesn't want him to pay him back. He gets the feeling he needs to pay him back for his own mental stability. Maybe eventually he'll be able to convince the younger man that he doesn't need to. 


	6. Chapter 6

Crane quickly changes out of the pajamas he'd put on after his shower. He's tired, but part of having company means sometimes putting their needs before his own. He slips into a pair of knee-length baggy pants and a tank top patterned like misty mountains, jerking his stocking cap over his head to keep his bald skull warm and slips his ears through the special holes.

 

Shrugging on his leather jacket and grabbing his bag, he pads back out into the larger living space out of the bedroom nook.

 

"Ready to go, Black?" he asks the kid as though he has any belongings to prepare.

 

Lewis is relieved by Crane’s casual attitude – he can stop trying, he can relax too for a second. Which means being an asshole. “So are you allergic to regular clothes or what?” He asks, eyeing Crane’s outfit. He already knows the older man doesn’t own a single pair of jeans – he snooped through Crane’s closet yesterday, marveling at the unusual outfits – but he’s not sure if everyone around here dresses like a hipster, or just Crane.

 

Crane chuckles as he pulls a strange case that looks like it might hold eyeglasses out of his bag, considers his choice, and then puts it back inside instead of leaving it behind. "No, I'm just covered in hair from head to toe. If you were coated in a fine layer of fuzz that gets easily pinched and pulled and plucked by zippers and buttons and tight clothes, you'd be wearing loose-fitting outfits too. Figured I might as well be stylish while I'm at it."

 

“I guess. I mean, wear whatever you like, as long as you leave me out of it.” Lewis says, giving Crane a doubtful look. It’s not that the clothes look bad on Crane, just… whatever. It isn’t important. He walks over to the door, waiting for Crane to stop fiddling with his backpack, trying not to show how impatient he is to be out of the apartment and exploring the city.

 

Crane leads the way, his tail swishing behind him absent-mindedly. They head down the stairs and finally out into the city. To Lewis' surprise, unlike Crane's hover-cruiser, most of the vehicles still have wheels on the streets. He's staring around so much at the tall shiny buildings and bright neon lights that he doesn't notice Crane has started to walk away until he hears the cat beckon him with a whistle.

 

"Hope you're stir crazy for a long walk," Crane says, slipping his second arm through the other strap of his back pack. "It's about twenty blocks to Little Olympus."

 

" _Twenty blocks?_ " Lewis repeats incredulously. Sure, he'd wanted to get outside, but that's going from zero to sixty awfully fast. "What about your floating car thing?"

 

"Got hecked in travel," Crane says, not slowing down his pace as the other man jogs to keep up. "It's in shop for a couple days."

 

"Can't we hail a cab?" Lewis looks at the unmistakable white cars zipping by with TAXI on the side in bright blue lettering.

 

"No," Crane says a little too quickly, grabbing Lewis' sleeve and pulling his hand back down when he'd started to try and alert one of the Taxis. "We're walking."

 

The walk is long, and they're both hungry by the time they approach a very large outdoor strip mall. Foot traffic weaves in between hundreds of carts selling all sorts of things, from jewelry to fresh produce to clothes to live seafood and more. Steam billows up from manhole covers, giving the whole place a very warm and industrial feeling. Ivy climbs the walls of the narrow people-lined street and men and women hang out of their second-story apartment windows smoking cigarettes and people watching.

 

"Welcome to Little Olympus," Crane gestures to the iron archway that marks the entrance of the strip mall. "It's absolutely nothing like the actual planet Olympus, but you can find anything here."

 

Lewis likes it immediately. He’s never been to a city like this – he grew up in small dusty towns and flat southwest cities that had been baked dry in the sun. He’s never seen anything this vibrant and alive before.

 

He starts forward eagerly, heading towards the nearest stall, which is stocked with racks of simple cotton shirts. Across from it is a cooking counter that’s giving off a delicious garlic scent, and Lewis feels his stomach growl. He’s already smiling, forgetting the apartment, happy to be out in a new world for the first time in what feels like forever.

 

Turning back to Crane, he asks, “What’s the planet like? Olympus, I mean.”

 

Crane laughs bitterly. "It's a luxury planet. All green and glass and chrome. The poorest people who live there are millionaires. It's a tourist trap. Most everybody wants to live there," he says, stooping to sniff the garlic-y treats. "It's a real nightmare if you ask me. A whole planet full of nothing but rich snobs. Rich _European_ snobs, I might add. This place is way better."

 

Lewis nods, too distracted by the stalls around him to hear the anger in Crane’s voice. He picks through the racks of shirts, trying to find some that aren’t too expensive. At least it’s easy enough to find plain clothing – Crane’s definitely more high fashion than most of the people around him, which is something of a relief to Lewis. He grabs a few likely items off the rack and checks the price tags – it seems reasonable, nothing he can’t pay off within a month or so, as long as the minimum wage here is decent.

 

“This should work,” He says to Crane, who seems much more interested in the food stand across the way.

 

Crane turns at the other man's beckoning and chuckles at the sight of three plain tee shirts. "Wow, you're really going to clean me out of house and home with your extravagant taste," he says, and reaches into a flap of his backpack and pulls out a simple silver and clear plastic card. "I just got paid and it's nothing to sneeze at, so don't feel bad if you want to buy jeans that fit over jeans that are cheap."

 

“Excuse me if I don’t want to go broke looking like a peacock.” Lewis rolls his eyes, handing the shirts to the woman behind the counter. He smiles at her and then turns back to Crane. “Anyway, I still need to pay you back for this. You might be rich but I’m sure as hell not.”

 

"I'm not rich," Crane laughs. "I have a lot of money in really short bursts. I don't spend most of it, it's all funneling right back into Titanium. The day I break my debt with him is the day I'm free. Problem is my debt keeps climbing with interest so I've got to keep paying it off."

 

“An even better reason not to waste your money,” Lewis says as Crane swipes his card. “If he’s got you by the tail I don’t want to make it worse.”

 

"I've been got by the tail for twenty years now, slugger," Crane says, putting his card back in his bag. "One shopping trip won't make the difference between freedom and perdition."

 

He claps Lewis on the back and they continue on their way down the strip. Every few feet there's something new to smell, with free samples on tooth picks being pushed at them every step of the way. They accept cubes of cheese and fish and bread and fruit, in between stalls of looking at trinkets and knick knacks.

 

Lewis is finally wrangled into buying three pairs of jeans, all of which fit him fairly well. Crane won't take no for an answer. Lewis wanted to buy three pairs of interchangeable identical blue jeans, but the cat refused the fashion catastrophe and bought him a blue pair, a black pair and a grey pair.

 

With bags in tow and more samples pushed on them at every turn, they're both feeling warm and content and happy. "A lot of homeless people wander through here," Crane says after politely declining a chicken sample. "All these samples are little but if you wander from one end to the other and take every one you've eaten a full meal by the time you exit the other side."

 

“It’s a really cool place,” Lewis admits. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And the food’s all _really_ good.” As he’s accepting a piece of vegetable tempura on a stick, he notices Crane peering at a stand that’s selling small metal knick knacks. “What’re you looking for?” He asks.

 

"Just uh…" Crane trails off before making a little chirping noise of triumph. He lifts a tiny compass charm and turns it over in his palm to check the little price sticker on the back. He quickly purchases it and slips it in a pocket of his bag. "It's nothing," he finally addresses the other man.

 

Lewis is just quick enough to see that it’s a compass that Crane’s holding in his paw. He wavers for a moment between asking about the compass and revealing his snooping, and just letting it go, and decides on the latter. If Crane wants to be secretive he can be secretive. Lewis can find out eventually. Still, he can’t resist teasing.

 

“Seems like a pretty big deal, for nothing.” He says, casting his own eyes over the stand’s offerings. By chance he happens to find another compass, half buried under pliers and earrings and other miscellanea. He picks it out and studies it, aware of how Crane’s eyes follow the compass as he turns it over in his hands.

 

“This is pretty cool,” He remarks innocently.

 

The cat's eyes widen slightly. "Are you going to buy that?" he asks, trying to get a good look at it in the kid's hands. It looks like it used to flip open, but the front isn't attached to the hinge anymore. Still, it functions, and the brass is shiny and clean. The little knobs around the outside made to resemble an old fashioned ship's wheel tug at his heartstrings.

 

“I mean, it’s your money,” Lewis says, “you’d have to actually buy it.” There’s nothing special that he can see about the compass, but he knows Crane didn’t have anything quite like it in his box in his closet, and he’s fascinated by Crane’s sudden intense focus, like he’s looking at rare treasure. Lewis turns the compass over in his hands, trying to figure out the allure of it – it’s interesting, sure, an antique that’s obviously well made, but at the end of the day it’s just a compass to him. Crane obviously sees something more in it, leaning over and squinting at it as if it’s the only thing in the world. He passes it over to Crane – he just has to.

 

Crane's squinting eyes pop open as the compass is passed to him. He looks up from the knick knack up to Lewis and then back down at it, trying to discern if he's handing it over to see if Crane wants it, or if he's asking him to buy it for him. It's heavy in his hand, and he flips it over, inhaling sharply through his nose as he finds a little door in the back of the compass. He opens it with one claw and there's an empty space inside for tiny keepsakes.

 

"This is really great," he says practically involuntarily as he checks the price tag. "Is it- do you… want it?" he looks up at the younger man with wide eyes.

 

Lewis is completely taken aback by the expression on Crane’s face. He’s never seen him not fully in control, sardonic, tactful… uncaring. But this is a completely different side of the cat. He considers for a moment, studying the compass just as much as Crane’s face.

 

“Why don’t you take it,” He says, playing casual. “As a thank you gift. With your money. Which I still mean to pay back.” Okay, so it isn’t exactly as smooth as he wanted it to be. But the way Crane fingers the edges of the compass makes it worth it.

 

"A gift with my own money," Crane chuckles breathily and shakes his head as he quickly purchases the second compass. He stows it in his bag along with the first. "I've uh… got a little collection of these," he admits once they keep moving. He's not sure why he feels embarrassed to share this. It's not like it's a big secret or it's even anything embarrassing. There's no shame in collecting compasses. He rubs at the back of his neck, smoothing his wrinkles out. "I've got more than I can count, really. Now I've got two more."

 

“Why compasses?” Lewis asks, genuinely curious. He’s even more interested in the way Crane’s face has changed over the last few minutes, the way his eyes have gone from his customary aloof, appraising look to gaping and intense, and back to slitted and uncomfortable. It makes him wonder if Crane’s really as controlled as he seems. Then again, it could also be that Crane cares much more about his own little obsession than anything. Lewis can’t tell, but he’s interested in pursuing any further clues to the strange man who calls himself Crane but might be named Billy.

 

"It's uh…" Crane clears his throat. "My grandfather. He had this great compass. Kept it with him for 55 years when he was serving in the military. It saved his life dozens of times over. He always said he'd pass it down to me, but uh…" he clears his throat again. "He got put in a home by my parents. Didn't get to see him when he was dying. By the time I got there all his stuff had been given away. So I've been looking for it. Started finding other compasses that were cool and bought a few, someone saw them and thought I was collecting and gave me one, it just kind of grew from there. Now I just keep buying every one I see. I figure eventually I'll come across his, or at least one that looks like his."

 

Lewis wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He’s honestly not sure how to respond. They’re still walking through stalls but his pace has slowed to a crawl while he listens to Crane. He can’t imagine caring about something that ‘s belonged to his family – maybe a keepsake from his sister, but he’d cheerfully burn any inheritance from any of his other relatives. The idea that Crane’s been searching for this long…

 

“Do you remember what it looked like?” Lewis said lamely. Even as he spoke he was yelling at himself; Of course Crane remembers what it looked like, he’s been searching for it for years how could anyone keep looking for so long? He looks away again, for what must be the tenth time this night, but this time it’s out of concern for Crane rather than himself.

 

"I do," Crane says as he accepts another bite of fish from a tooth pick. "It was solid bronze. Had a little ship wheel motif around the edges just like the one I just bought. Carved right out of metal, it was gorgeous. White gold face, ruby inlaid, ivory hand. And it flipped open into a pocket watch that could be set to tell the time in four different places at once. It was a $25,000 compass, but I didn't want it for the money. Whoever took it probably hocked it for cash."

 

“I hope you find it.” Lewis says, shaking his head at the fish he’s also being offered. He has to admit, the chances of Crane seeing the compass again seem slim. Still, he makes a note of the description – maybe he can be looking for it too.

 

Although he usually hates hearing about families, he’s fascinated by this new side of Crane enough to ask, “What was your grandfather like?”

 

Crane gives a dry chuckle. "Honest. Serious. Intelligent. Very compassionate. He came off like a hardass a lot of the time but that was just from spending five decades in the military. He was a very decorated General, very respectable. He had great morals. My parents did not care for the influence he was having on me. That is to say, he was teaching me about the proper right and wrong, when they just wanted me to be a rich cunt and take over the family business spewing smog into the planet's atmosphere." he takes a deep breath before he has the chance to raise his voice. "So they stuck him in a home rather than risk him turning me into a good person. Can't say whether or not it worked."

 

“He sounds really amazing.” Lewis follows Crane’s lead around a corner, into a slightly brighter section of the market. He can hear several street musicians performing at once, and the murmur of the other shoppers around them grows in volume.

 

"He was something else," Crane agrees solemnly. "He was the one who taught me about how important it is to help the disadvantaged and homeless. Which is another reason I hate Titanium. If I had my way I'd take all of his money and give it to everybody who needs it. He's got enough to spread across the galaxy twice over. Even if he just gave away one of his billions… there's no difference to HIM between nine billion and ten billion but it would make all the difference to a place like this," he gestures around him with a sigh, resting his hands on his hips.

 

He looks on at the thronging, smiling people and feels his heart lurch. Children dance together in the narrow street and weave between the standing musicians, potters throw clay on wheels, everywhere people are talking and making jewelry and romancing and painting the bricks to make things a little brighter.

 

"The people here make do alright," he says with a bittersweet smile. "I just wish somehow I could guarantee all of them get dinner every night."

 

Lewis feels like he’s floating for just a moment. He’s carried away on Crane’s words, gazing down at the older man like he’s seeing him for the first time, feeling a sudden ache in his heart. Then he catches himself - _Oh no, don’t you dare go falling for some stranger, even if you think he’s a good person, even if he cares about people like you. You can’t afford this shit right now. You’re leaving. Don’t forget that you’re going to leave._

 

He clears his throat self-consciously, shoving his unwanted affection to the back of his mind, trying to focus on the task at hand.

 

“Speaking of Titanium. You said you were going to show me what his people looked like.”

 

"Right," Crane clears his throat and looks around. "There's usually a handful crawling around this place. There's so many people, hold on."

 

He hops up on a crate with the grace only a cat can carry and cranes his neck to peer over the heads of the crowd. His eyes go wide and his tail flicks back and forth as he scans the people. Finally he makes another chirping noise and hops down off the crate.

 

"Follow me," he takes Lewis by the hand so he won't lose him and pulls him through the people


	7. Chapter 7

Finding the men is the easy part. Finding a place to hide to look at them inconspicuously is a little more difficult. He finally stops them between two buildings and herds Lewis into the narrow alleyway so they can hide while they peer down the road. "See those three big guys down there? The ones wearing fur vests. It's kind of an unofficial uniform for Titanium's 'employees' we'll call them. Not every one of them wears one, and not everyone who wears one works for Titanium. You have to be cautious. He tends to surround himself with big muscular men - I'll let you deduce that one for yourself - so usually if there's a combination of a big man wearing a fur vest, you should hightail it in the other direction."

 

Lewis peers at the three men, trying to take in every detail of them. “Okay. That definitely seems in line with the fucker anyway,” He laughs quietly and bitterly. “And he just… has them everywhere? You said he owned half the planet.”

 

On some level, he’s aware of the fact that Crane’s talking about Titanium’s men like they’re something to be careful around, instead of something he’s looking for. He files that away for later thought – right now he wants to get as much information as possible, so he can figure out how to hit Titanium where it hurts the most

 

"He owns more than half the planet, he owns half the galaxy," Crane scoffs a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "They're crawling all over the planets in this star system. Like… furry lice. This planet just happens to be where Titanium himself has settled down. His big stupid house-mansion-maze is on this planet."

 

“I know.” Lewis bristles in spite of himself. “I was in it, remember?” He shakes off his anger, telling himself to calm down and keep learning. The three men move further down the alley, and he turns back to Crane. “So they’re just wandering around? Like are they police or bodyguards or what?”

 

"They're… not really police, technically. They don't enforce laws or goodness, they enforce Titanium's whims. Which are subject to change at any given moment, and he can contact them all via devices they carry around so at the drop of a hat he could decide that everyone they see wearing white pants needs to be taken in under suspect of stealing something from him and it'll be happening in a matter of minutes."

 

“So police,” Lewis growls, taking a step back towards the main street. “Just a little more streamlined and effective.”

 

"I suppose?" Crane follows behind the larger man. "The point is I don’t know if they're still looking for you so in the meantime, just steer clear of them- hey, where are you going?"

 

“Just back to the main…” Lewis trails off. At the end of the alley he spots a familiar neon sign: “Pawn: Guns & Ammo.”

 

“Actually, that’s where I’m going.” He points at the store, a tiny shop with iron grating on the windows and a lot of handwritten signs posted on the door. Without waiting for Crane to follow, he heads down the alley, hoping against hope that the three day rule doesn’t apply anywhere but Earth.

 

"Guns? You- a gun?" Crane hisses, padding quickly after Lewis. "You don't need a gun, do you even know how to shoot a gun? Black!"

 

He tails after him into the shop, staring uneasily around at all the firearms. He's never been very comfortable with a gun. Knives have always been his forte, guns are unpredictable and loud, they're so incredibly loud. His ears flatten on instinct as he looks around the shop.

 

"I'm not buying you a gun," he hisses quietly to the younger man. He's not sure why he's whispering, half of it has to do with the fact that he's just intimidated by guns- he knows he can't "wake them up" by talking too loud, but it just doesn't seem right to shout in the presence of guns. Part of it is his fear of insulting the gunshop owner.

 

“Look,” Lewis pulls Crane aside for a moment, “I grew up with guns. My dad’s a crazy survivalist Vietnam vet. I was on a firing range before I was 10. Please do me this favor.” He has no idea if he’s even making sense to Crane, given the cross-cultural lack of context, but he doesn’t have time to explain, especially with the gun shop owner looking on. It strikes him momentarily as strange that a mercenary seems so freaked out by the idea of guns – shouldn’t he be used to this? – but he ignores it, looking back at the counter. Even from a quick glance, it seems like there’s no real difference between guns on this planet and the ones back on earth – he sees a walther p99 that looks exactly like the one his father taught him to shoot with sitting on a rack, tantalizingly close.

 

"No," Crane shakes his head. "No guns are coming into my home. I can't even afford a gun anyway, they're priced very high here by order of Titanium because he _knows_ people want to buy them to _shoot him in the face with._ "

 

Lewis steals another sideways glance at the owner, who seems suspicious of the whispered conversation happening in his store. To be fair, he would be too – they’re acting incredibly suspicious, and he’s suddenly very aware of Crane’s warnings about keeping a low profile. But the gun’s right there, and it’s one he knows like the back of his hand, and he could come up with another place to store it if Crane refuses completely to let it into his home… and he’s not going to stay with Crane too long, he reminds himself firmly.

 

In the end, the odds are too good to refuse.

 

“You should go,” Lewis says, shoving Crane suddenly towards the front door. Aware of how gun store clerks work, he’s already ducking as he snatches the pistol off the rack, ready at any moment for a spray of buckshot to blossom over his head. He isn’t disappointed – he hears a loud crack and the glass door explodes in front of him, but he’s already barreling through the metal frame and out onto the street. He spots Crane – apparently unwounded, thank god – but doesn’t have time for more than a passing glance. He’s too busy jamming the gun into the waistband of his jeans and dashing back down the alleyway they came from, already wishing he hadn’t involved Crane in this.

 

"Are you kidding me?!" He hears Crane yowl behind him.

 

Crane's ears are ringing from the gunshot. He shoots the shop owner an apologetic look and tears out of the broken door behind the fleeing man. Behind him he hears the gunman shouting for some of Titanium's lackeys about the theft, and it would just so happen of course that guns are the one thing Titanium heavily enforces for his own safety, so in moments they're being pursued by four very large men.

 

"Black!" he screeches down the alley at the retreating man. Crane is light on his paws but he's forced to vault onto a dumpster and over a high fence to keep up with the other man. "You _idiot!_ "

 

Lewis looks back when he hears Crane’s shout and hits a chain link fence full force, almost knocking the breath out of him. He clambers up as quickly as he can, fueled by the realization that yes, they are being chased, and from what Crane’s just told him it’s almost certainly Titanium’s men that are doing the chasing.

 

Well. No one ever said he had good ideas.

 

As he clears the fence he glances back and sees Crane hot on his heels, pursued by four fur-vested men who are quickly gaining ground. Fuck. He drops off the fence and lands heavily on his knees, wincing at the impact. There’s a clear path through the stalls to his left, and he heads for it immediately, shoving shoppers out of his way as he scans the area for some kind of hiding spot. Of course, there’s nothing, and of course, the street dead-ends in a sheer concrete wall.

 

Lewis randomly chooses to dart left at the dead end, hurtling down another alley with absolutely no idea where he’s heading. He chances another look back – yep, Crane’s still with him, and so are Titanium’s men. He whips his head forward again and instinctively leaps to his right to avoid a large dumpster that’s appeared as if by magic in front of his face. This is going to be a lot more complicated than he initially thought.

 

If Crane wasn't in such good shape for his age, he'd have a hard time keeping up with Lewis. Whether or not the younger man is aware, he's knocking things over as he goes, which is just more things for Crane to jump over. When he leaps over a precarious dumpster, it crashes over behind him and traps one of their pursuers beneath it.

 

One down, three to go.

 

"After them!" Crane hears a voice over the thumping of his backpack on his shoulders. He pulls his straps tighter and buckles the one across his chest to keep it in place as he flips over the next fence. He lands hard with a few moments to spare and wobbles with a groan. All of this ducking and running isn't doing wonders on his stomach after all those samples they'd been eating.

 

He shoots down the alley after Lewis and has to duck beneath some laundry hung across the alley to keep from getting clotheslined in the throat. Lewis is _fast_ for his size, but Crane is keeping up okay. "Up there!" he shouts to Lewis and points at a fire escape. Lewis turns to look back at where he's pointing, but when he makes a beeline for the ladder, he's not tall enough to pull it down. Without warning, Crane jumps on his back and spring-boards off his shoulders, knocking him to his ass, but he pulls the ladder down with his weight so Lewis will be able to climb up and immediately starts to scramble vertically.

 

He’s taken off guard when Crane leaps off his shoulders, but Lewis recovers fairly well, scrambling to his feet and pulling himself up the ladder. They pause for just a second on the balcony, catching their breath, and then Lewis looks down.

 

“Oh shit, here they come!” He shouts, and dashes up the fire escape stairs, Crane right behind him. It’s two stories up to the top of the building, not nearly enough to put distance between them and their pursuers. Lewis starts out across the roof, barely dodging air conditioning units but still managing to stay on his feet. At the very edge of the rooftop he pulls up short. The next building is at least 10 feet away, and as much as he wants to get away, he knows he’s not exactly spider-man.

 

Luck’s with him though – he sees there’s another balcony jutting out below him. Without a second thought, he launches himself off the rooftop, reaching up to protect his neck and face as he drops. He smashes into the concrete one story below and rolls backwards, bashing the back of his head painfully against the back wall of the balcony. Lewis sees stars for a moment, reeling, and is only brought back to reality when Crane lands gracefully beside him and offers him a hand.

 

They're off again, charging across balconies, their pursuers seem lost for the time being. But seconds later they come bursting out of the alleyway through a line of clothes, tearing it down in the process. "They're up there!"

 

"Shit," Crane curses as they come to the last balcony on the row. The only choices are to drop down and be caught, or…. he climbs Lewis like a tree and leaps up onto the rooftop. Dropping to his belly, he offers the larger man both his hands and pulls him back onto the roof. "We have to get across the gap," he tells the other man, bouncing light on his feet. "From there the rooftops are all pretty close together and we should be able to get away. How far can you jump?"

 

“ Not far. “ Lewis gasps, eyes darting back towards their pursuers. Crane shoots him a frustrated look and grabs his hand, pulling him up.

 

“I’ll take care of you,” He says, voice tight and efficient. Lewis nods, and they’re off again.

 

They race across the rooftop. As they reach the end, Crane grabs Lewis and gives him a boost forward off the edge of the building. Lewis flails midair, certain he’s about to die, and barely catches himself on the concrete roof. He clambers up painfully, trying to suck air back into his lungs, as Crane launches himself across the gap. Lewis summons the energy to glare at Crane’s seemingly effortless acrobatics before they’re off again, heading for the next building, which to Lewis’s eternal relief is barely a foot away from the current one.

 

They leap from rooftop to rooftop, steadily leaving their pursuers behind. The more they run, the harder the adrenaline is keeping him moving. He hasn't had to run like this in a very long time. But beyond the slight soreness in his paws and knees, he can't believe how _fun_ this is. He's been obeying the law for so long because of his stint with Titanium and what it could mean to break his rules, so he forgot how exciting it is to be bad. He'll likely have to pay for this later, but he can handle that. He feels like he can handle anything right now.

 

They slide down another fire escape into a little fenced-off courtyard between a couple apartment buildings. It's dark and quiet and secluded, dirty brick flanked by messy, weedy grass. All the windows around them are dark, and the only way to the street outside is via a gate in a very tall, solid wood fence. They're alone and at last, unchased.

 

The pair hang in midair for a moment, it seems, as they wait to deem they are alone. Almost a full minute passes quietly, and Crane finally stops rotating his ears and he looks over at the younger man. "You _jackass_ ," he hisses, although he can't stop grinning, his jowls pulled wide into a smile. "You know they don't even keep the guns on display _loaded_? What are you going to do, _throw_ the gun at Titanium?"

 

“It’s… a start… asshole,” He pants. Fists clenched, he gets to his feet, his unused muscles aching painfully. Noting Crane’s wide grin, he remarks, “You look like you don’t mind too fucking much.”

 

He staggers towards Crane involuntarily and catches himself against the wall behind them, almost falling against him. It takes him a moment to recover, but he’s finally able to stand up properly, even if he is still breathing heavily.

 

Crane is panting just as hard, possibly harder, his head swimming as it comes down from an intense adrenaline high. It feels like the world is spinning dizzily around him. He can hear Lewis is still berating him for something. He might have something in his ears, it sounds like the kid is down a tunnel. He looks up hazily at the younger man, fighting his own lungs as he tries to catch his breath.

 

Lewis is ranting now, recovering from being scared out of his skull that one or both of them were going to die. He barely hears himself yelling. “Why the fuck did you come right after me? You don’t get how to split up? They would’ve just been following me, you would’ve been home clear, you fucking idiot, you would have been fucking fine!”

 

Now Crane’s doubled over coughing, and Lewis knows he should be calming down, helping in some way, but his heart is still jumping wildly and he can’t seem to stop the words pouring out of his mouth. “See? You don’t owe me shit! Why the fuck are you using me as a jungle gym and fucking jumping off me and throwing me around? You’re just fucking yourself up, asshole, why the hell won’t you leave me the fuck alone?”

 

Crane doesn't really hear Lewis. Then again, he's not really trying to hear him. The dizziness is overwhelming him. Lewis is still yelling at him. He looks up again to see him ranting, waving both hands around. He's… complaining about something? Crane's not sure what he's so angry about, they got away alright, didn't they? He drops his head again with a moan.

 

"And another thing!" Lewis starts in, but he doesn't get the chance to finish.

 

With his equilibrium all tossed about, Crane staggers forward to try and hold his footing, but he trips on a brick. He throws his hands up to catch himself, his palms come down hard on either side of Lewis' shoulders.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just straight up porn. Just so you know.

Lewis jerks backwards as Crane , wide-eyed, stopping mid-rant. His hands automatically latch onto Crane’s shoulders, steadying him before he can fall again. He suddenly feels very warm and very aware of how close Crane is to his body.

 

“Shit, man…” He mumbles, catching Crane around the waist as the older man slumps forward. By accident or design, it brings them closer together, Crane practically falling against Lewis’s torso.

 

Panting hard, Crane drops his forehead to Lewis' shoulder and moans, loudly. This kid is really putting him through the ringer. He shivers again, his exhausted body slumps totally against the warm form in front of him. Half-delirious, he doesn't really register that he's leaning against Lewis from chest to knees. His arms cease to support him and all he catalogues are warm, strong arms around him.

 

“You’re…you’re kidding me.” Lewis mumbles, breathing heavily himself. He hopes desperately that Crane doesn’t notice his arousal, which he’s doing his best to control, but there’s not much he can do when an attractive man has just laid up against his chest. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

 

Tilting his head back, Crane looks down over the younger man's body. He opens his mouth to say something about how he understands how Lewis was jumping around like that given how tight and hard his body feels against his own, but his words die in his throat when something catches his eye. He looks down and finds himself staring at what is probably the most prominent clothed erection he's ever seen in his life.

 

Heat rockets through him. The kid's aroused, about something. It could just be the adrenaline in his body, being as young as he is that wouldn't be a huge shock. They've been down here for a couple minutes and he definitely didn't have an erection when they first dismounted the rooves. He would have seen it. But the alternative to that is that he's aroused by Crane.

 

He hasn't done anything particularly arousing, in fact all he's done is lean on him. But it's the only real option. He feels another shiver ripple through him.

 

"You're aroused," he doesn't give Lewis time to argue. "Adrenaline really does fuck with you, doesn't it? Turned on by me?"

 

When Lewis starts to splutter out an awkward response that is definitely everything _but_ denying the accusation, Crane holds up a finger to silence him. "The correct answer is, _Yes I am, Mr. Crane_ , because anything else would be a lie and I don't appreciate being lied to."

 

Lewis can’t tell if this is the best or most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. Crane’s deadpan delivery is difficult to read – is he being shamed or seduced? He opts to duck his head and look away yet again. “What’s it to you?” He mutters, face bright red, short of breath again despite having completely recovered from the run across the rooftops by now. It hardly matters – he’s sure Crane can read the answer to his question in every line of his body, especially his groin.

 

"I'm interested," Crane says without skipping a beat. It occurs to him that it might destroy whatever 'relationship' they have right now, but it's not exactly much to begin with. If he never sees Lewis again after this, whatever. "Are you interested?"

 

Well, that makes it allowed, and that’s really all Lewis needs. He turns back to Crane, still kneeling in the dirty alleyway, and kisses him firmly on the mouth, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist, cutting his tongue on Crane’s sharp teeth. The background noise of the city around them fades away. It’s a long while before he pulls away, dropping his head again, still blushing.

 

“I guess that answers your question,” He mumbles, looking down.

 

Crane's eyes are as wide as they were when he was staring at the compasses in the marketplace, possibly even wider. His lips are parted ever so slightly, his tail twitching back and forth behind him. Cautiously, he raises one hand to his lips, which are still tingling, and brushes his fingers across them.

 

"You kissed me," he says hoarsely, looking up at Lewis. "Nobody… I haven't… you kissed me."

 

His ears start ringing, his blood is pumping through them so hard. He feels dizzy, in the best way, like he has a million butterflies under his skin and they're all trying to fly apart in different directions. He's suddenly very aware of just how dark he's flushing, his whole face going several shades darker than its usual mute pink.

 

For basically his entire life, he's gotten used to the fact that kisses aren't a thing that happens to him. He's been with several men and women over the decades, but the only person to ever kiss him like that was a girl named Hope. They were both so young, he was only fifteen, and he can barely remember what she looked like. He remembers her long red braids and little else. Since then it's been a long line of no kisses, and he'd come to terms with that. Nobody wants to kiss a cat. Even other members of the feraline species show affection with nuzzling rather than direct kissing. It's just not a thing they experience.

 

He's been around humans for so long, watching them kiss, he's always been a little jealous. But he understands why people wouldn't want to kiss him, with jaws like he has. Not to mention he doesn't have the prettiest of faces…

 

But Lewis _kissed_ him. He can barely breathe.

 

Lewis takes a deep breath and forces himself to look back at Crane. To his utter astonishment Crane has gone just as red as him, even under his pale skin. Lewis exhales sharply and ducks his head, looking up through his blonde curls, still too nervous to meet Crane’s wide green eyes.

 

“I did kiss you,” He mumbles. His mouth hurts, it feels strange to have kissed someone with the face of a cat, but at the same time he’s still drawn forward. The strangeness is easily equaled by the electricity of it, the way their incompatible mouths still met perfectly, the way Crane’s rough velvet tongue felt against his… he swallows hard and resists the urge to take Crane in his arms again.

 

There's no use thinking about all the implications now. Crane steels himself. "Up against the wall," he says, pushing at Lewis shoulders until he stands and leans against the wall. He follows the kid to a stand and arches up on his tiptoes, pressing his body against the front of the other man.

 

He wants to try it again. He tangles both hands in Lewis' hair and licks the younger man's lips, his barbed tongue making a soft scraping sound. When Lewis opens his mouth, he immediately goes for the sore on his tongue, lapping at the blood and soothing the soft barbs over it. He runs his hands down the sides of Lewis' neck and down his chest, lower over his belly and then to his pants, still kissing him deeply as he tugs open his belt and fly.

 

Sometimes it still surprises him that human men keep their penises on the outside. With one velvet palm down Lewis' jeans, he squeezes and pulls at his cock, pleased to find it's of a decent size indeed. He breaks the kiss panting, his tail swishing as he drops down to his knees.

 

"I want you to gag me with it," he commands, looking up at the younger man as he fishes his cock out so it stands straight and hard in the cool night air. "Grab my ears, fuck my throat. I want to feel it in my stomach."

 

Lewis can hardly believe it. He leans back against the wall and takes Crane’s head in his hands, his fingers fitting perfectly around the base of Crane’s large ears. He closes his eyes and presses down slightly, carefully, and of course, Crane does the rest.

 

Lewis can’t help letting out a low moan as Crane swallows his cock, his rough tongue lapping at the underside where it’s most sensitive, making him bite his lip as he thrusts deeper into Crane’s mouth. He bucks his hips faster and faster, trying to be quiet but unable to stifle the groans of pleasure that escape him. He’s aware of Crane’s sharp teeth barely raking his dick but it feels right, it feels immeasurably good, the very slight hint of pain only heightening the pleasure that’s shooting down his spine.

 

Crane's eyes flutter shut contentedly as the back of his throat is hammered with Lewis' prick. He braces his hands on the wall, keeping his throat loose for the time being. He turns his head ever so slightly from side to side, effectively rotating both his mouth and his tongue around the length punching down his throat.

 

He feels heat pooling in his belly as he gulps Lewis' cock, swallowing down every time it reaches the back of his throat. He's sure to keep his teeth out of the way - he doesn't really have lips that can functionally suck, so all he can do is press Lewis' prick to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, or swallow down hard.

 

Squatting with his thighs spread open wide, his tail swishing behind him, Crane palms at his own groin. It's aching, but he doesn't want to let his own cock out of its sheath yet. It's always a pain to get back inside right away (sometimes literally) and he'd much prefer he wait to get home to beat off. But the pressure from the outside is nice and he bucks against his hand. He coughs around Lewis' cock when it stabs him in the back of the throat particularly roughly, but it's not enough.

 

He pulls back, panting. " _Harder_ ," he demands hoarsely.

 

Lewis leans his head back against the brick wall behind him, eyes shut, pulling slightly against Crane’s ears, pressing down as much as he feels he can get away with. He’s still thrusting, moaning, breathing heavily as he edges closer to coming, Crane’s rough tongue lapping at his cock. He presses Crane’s face further against him, barely thinking about it, just grabbing the older man by the ears and pulling him closer. The response is immediate – Crane gags very slightly and Lewis lets out a low, heartfelt moan, feeling the other man’s throat close around his dick. He tenses and thrusts deeper, desperately aroused by the way Crane chokes when he does so.

 

When Crane feels his belly flip he knows it's working. He's not sure how much is left in his stomach at this point, but damn it he wants to try. He pushes forward every time Lewis bears down, swallowing his cock deeper than it needs to go, gulping him down enthusiastically. He's really driving back now, and with every hard ram to the back of his throat, Crane gags and his own cock throbs.

 

It won't be long now. His prick is aching to be set free of its sheath, but he grinds the heel of one hand into it to keep it inside as he guzzles Lewis' cock. He coughs, a blast of air shooting around his length and gags hard enough to have his stomach flipping.

 

As soon as Lewis feels Crane gagging around his cock, he can’t hold it in anymore – he comes immediately, letting out a low cry as he feels the rush of air blasting his dick. He shudders and bites his lip hard, trying not to make any more noise, his fingers twisting erratically around the back of Crane’s large ears. It takes a moment before he can free himself from Crane’s mouth, and even as he does so he’s still moaning as quietly as he can, breathing like he’s run a mile.

 

“Th.. that was…” He can’t complete the thought. He finally opens his eyes to look down at Crane. A thin trail of drool connects the cat’s mouth to his own penis. Lewis slides down against the brick wall behind him, squatting so he’s eye level with Crane again, and pulls him into a tight embrace.

 

Crane's eyes widen again. He didn't expect to get a cozy _hug_ after whatever "that was" that the kid couldn't finish saying. He's not sure what he's supposed to do now. If he should just let Lewis hug it out, if he's supposed to hug back… he pats the younger man's shoulder awkwardly.

 

He still can't get over the fact that Lewis _kissed_ him. After so long without kisses, he's pretty sure he'll never get over it as long as he lives. Even if he never sees Lewis again after tonight, he'll always hold a very unique place in his memories.

 

"We should get you home," he says, his voice rough. He's glad he'd put all of Lewis' things in his backpack still firmly strapped to his back, or they would have lost them in the chase. He rubs his hands up and down Lewis' sides with a tired grin. "You smell awful. You're all sweaty"

 

“It’s your fault.” Lewis mumbles ineffectively even though they both know it isn't, trying to get a hold of himself. He helps Crane to his feet, and together they take the back alleys home to Crane’s apartment. They leave their clothes on Crane’s shower floor and fall asleep almost immediately, still too awkward to hold each other, but still almost close enough to touch.


	9. Chapter 9

Lewis wakes up alone, and the first thing he notices is that the gun he stole last night isn’t where he left it on Crane’s kitchen table. He’s immediately enveloped by a hot flash of rage – Crane said he wouldn’t allow a gun in his house but he hadn’t protested last night, he’d told him to leave it on the table, he’d sworn he wouldn’t throw it out, he’d _sworn_.

 

Lewis pulls on his new jeans, ready to tear the small penthouse apart, when the front door opens and Crane sidles in, the small black pistol in one paw and a box of ammo in the other.

 

“What’s this about?” Lewis demands, trying to keep his temper in check.

 

Crane clears his throat and lifts his goods in both hands. "I uh… went and bought it," he says quietly, as though honestly purchasing an item is something to be ashamed of. "Along with some ammo. As long as you don't ever keep it loaded in my apartment, you can keep it."

 

He crosses the room, carefully observing Lewis' body language and the defensive way he's looking at the firearm. He sets both items on the table. "You thought I stole it," he says. It's not an accusatory tone, he just observes neutrally as he crosses the room to start collecting things for his bag.

 

“No,” Lewis says simply. The thought had actually never crossed his mind. “I thought you just threw it away.” He isn’t sure how to process this new development. Every time he thinks he has Crane even slightly figured out, he gets surprised. He walks to the table slowly, picking up the gun and turning it over carefully in his hands.

 

“I won’t load it.” He says absentmindedly, studying the weapon. “I was trained not to keep a loaded gun in the house.” It’s the same gun – he’s sure of it. Not like he’s an absolute expert in weaponry, especially mass produced pistols, but still. Crane must have gone back to the same shop and paid not only for the pistol but the bullets. Unreal. Lewis sets the gun down again, looking back at Crane.

 

“Did you really buy this? Isn’t that dangerous?” he asks.

 

Crane shrugs. " _Guns_ are dangerous," he says, folding a spare pair of pants into his bag along with the same weird glasses case as before. Turning his head to look at Lewis, he adds, "I'm dangerous. It's all a matter of perspective."

 

He paces over to the kitchen and shoves the last of his fish inside before buttoning it up and shrugging it over his shoulders. "I have another assignment from Titanium. Luckily this one is on-planet so I should only be gone for a day or two, tops. Please don't shoot anybody while I'm gone, if you can help it. But if you have to, protect yourself at all costs. I'm starting to like you, I don't want to lose you now."

 

He tugs his beanie down over his ears and heads out the door without another word.

 

Lewis can’t help yelling out the door after him – “Maybe if you wouldn’t tie your name to everything possible - ” But there’s no way Crane can hear him. Maybe it’s for the best. He doesn’t want Crane to see the way the phrase “starting to like you” has made him blush.

 

He does his best to keep his temper and his patience, fighting his natural inclination to see Crane’s new job as another abandonment. The fact that Crane’s come back once helps, as does the clear end date for the assignment. And then of course there’s the night in the alley, which neither of them have discussed much after it happened, but which has to mean something, even if it’s just a sex thing.

 

That’s Lewis’s main worry during the two days Crane is gone – it’s just a sex thing, somehow they hit on a common (but generally uncommon) fetish, but that’s as far as it’s going to go. Nevertheless, he keeps telling himself he’s being unreasonable. He watches the tiny tv, scanning the news for any sign of Crane or himself, and when he can’t stomach that anymore (Lewis has always hated watching television), he prowls the apartment, checking through Crane’s box of compasses with renewed interest. He loads his new gun and unloads it immediately, guiltily, tucking it and the box of ammo away in the back corner of Crane’s closet. He cooks a bit - he’s always been a decent cook, and his stints as a waiter and line cook in the American mid-to-southwest has given him a fair bit of experience - but there’s not much aside from seafood in Crane’s freezer, and that also quickly gets old.

 

And then the front door opens again.

 

It's been two days and Crane has been dreading coming home the whole time. Not because he doesn't want to see Lewis, but because he doesn't want Lewis to see him _like this._

 

He hadn't anticipated how quickly the news would get from the gun shop to Titanium about his purchase. He thought he'd have a few days at least to come up with something. He'd bought the gun as quickly as possible because he didn't want to be banned from Little Olympus- Lewis might have plans to leave but _he_ still has to live there and it's the biggest marketplace around. If he'd known _this_ would happen, he would have waited a little bit later to buy the gun.

 

Titanium pounced on him basically the instant he was brought in the door. He was interrogated, Titanium was furious. Why did Crane buy a gun? Did he feel threatened by something? Did he not feel safe with Titanium's ample force of body guards? Was he planning to use the gun? He had a million questions. And when Crane didn't answer them to Titanium's liking, the billionaire felt the need to remind Crane exactly why he needs to remain afraid of Titanium. A thorough soul-crushing, along with an "until further notice" mandatory body search every time he enters Titanium's home were just some of his punishments. Along with being starved for two days and beaten black and blue.

 

He creeps back into his apartment, worried about how Lewis might react. He hasn't been afraid of a lecture in a lot of years. He drops his bag on the kitchen table and shrugs his jacket off. Both arms up to his elbows have been wrapped in bandages, but it doesn't do much to hide the bruises that snake up, dark amongst his tattoos on his arms and belly and around his right eye. A few of his whiskers are missing and his left ear has been torn to match his right. One of his fangs has been knocked out and there's a dark and distinctly hand-shaped bruise around the saggy skin of his neck.

 

He doesn't make eye contact with Lewis. He doesn't want to see his pity or his anger or his blame. He just carefully begins to unpack his bag.

 

Lewis jumps to his feet as soon as he sees Crane limp through the door. He doesn’t even realize the full extent of the damage until Crane pulls off his jacket, exposing the bruises creeping up his torso and onto his face. Lewis is immediately at his side, silently taking his jacket and hanging it up neatly as Crane empties his bag on the kitchen table. Lewis knows how this works. He’s seen it with his sister, and he knows not to talk. Instead he clenches his teeth, trying to press down the hatred rising up within him. It’s obvious who did this to Crane. What matters now is helping him.

 

“Want something to eat?” He says quietly, carefully avoiding looking at Crane. It’s just like with Cynda – if he looks he’ll be too angry to help, he’ll just make things worse, no matter how much he wants to be protective. The only way he can help right now is being quiet and making things as easy for Crane as he can. Even though every fiber of his body is screaming at him to kill the bastard who did this, he tries to hold himself in check- he did this once, he can do it again.

 

Crane first shakes his head before he realizes Lewis isn't looking at him, so he croaks a tired "No. Just bed."

 

One of his paws is hurting him so he limps heavily across the room and climbs head-first into the opening at the front of his giant bed. He curls up by the back wall of the dome, piling pillows and blankets around him. He's well past the point of hunger at this point, he's just exhausted. He hasn't slept in two days - unless he should count the hour he spent unconscious after he was knocked in the face with the corner of a table, but he doesn't.

 

He just wants rest. His appetite might be back by morning. After a while, he realizes Lewis isn't following him and he crawls back to the opening. "Come to bed with me?" he asks in a rough voice. He knows it's only about ten PM which is reasonably too early for bed for a man as young as Lewis, but he still has to ask.

 

“Yeah,” Lewis says quietly, “No problem.” He turns off the dim lights before he crawls into bed, wrapping himself un-self-consciously around Crane’s battered body, holding him as gently as he can.

 

“Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?” He mutters into Crane’s shoulder, shutting his eyes against the pattern of bruises splashed across the older man’s back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Crane closes his eyes and lets himself be held. It's been a very long time since he's been held like this. He nuzzles against Lewis' arm underneath his head, and loops his fingers into the hand draped over his waist. He's quiet for a very long time, drifting in and out of sleep and just thinking. He's not sure how much time has passed when he opens his eyes again, but it's a little darker.

 

"Black?" he whispers. He doesn't get a response. So he ventures again, quietly, "Um... Lewis?"

 

"Hm?" he hears the sleepy response from behind him.

 

His throat feels tight. "Don't answer right now," he whispers hoarsely. "But… if we could make it work, I'd like you to stay."

 

 

===

 

 

Lewis wakes before Crane, untangling himself carefully as he remembers the extent of Crane’s injuries. It takes him a little while before he can get out of the bed, which he’s still working on navigating effectively – while Crane was gone he fell out of it at least once – but now he manages to slip out without waking the older man, padding over to the kitchen and sorting quietly through Crane’s remaining supplies.

 

As he’s making breakfast (oatmeal for himself, fried salmon for Crane), he considers the problem of Titanium. Lewis has to admit, he wants Crane with him when he goes after Titanium, but after the way he came back last night… he can’t risk it. He knows it must have something to do with the gun theft incident – there’s no way it isn’t related in some way – and he can’t risk Crane again. Not like that. Not with the consequences so severe.

 

So he’ll have to be discreet, pumping Crane for useful information without letting him on, and he’ll have to find a way to slip off on his own at some point. He can’t face the thought of Crane coming home again bruised and bloody. And to his surprise, he does find himself thinking of the apartment as “home”.

 

When Crane wakes up to the smell of cooking salmon, his appetite hits him full force. He rolls over in the bed and makes a chirping noise, stretching forward and arching his back before he crawls out of bed.

 

"You cook fish?" he says, his voice still a little rough from the incident that left the bruise around his throat. "I thought you were a nibbler. Er- veggie… brarian."

 

Lewis stifles a laugh as he slides the salmon onto a plate. “Vegetarian,” He says, with uncharacteristic patience. He sets the plate down across from his own, and sits, motioning Crane to join him. In the light of day Crane looks even worse than last night – his body is black and blue, there are choke marks around his neck that Lewis never even noticed, his left ear is ringed with dried blood, and he’s clearly missing some whiskers. And then there’s the fact that his muzzle looks a little deflated on one side – Lewis is certain he’s missing at least one tooth. He makes an effort to tamp down his rage, trying to act casual.

 

“I’ve worked at a lot of restaurants. It’s an easy job to get when you don’t have a degree. Well, I mean…I don’t know how much college counts here. Where I’m from if you aren’t a college grad you can’t really get a job, unless it’s sales or food service. And I’m a decent cook, I’ve picked up a lot of stuff from working at restaurants. I mean, I’m not amazing, but…” He realizes he’s babbling, and shoves a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth to shut himself up.

 

Crane has his chin propped up on one fist as he listens to Lewis, smiling tiredly. When he looks at the younger man, really looks at him, he can see just how handsome he is. He's been so preoccupied by his safety and wellbeing that this whole time he didn't really look at him. He takes in his square jaw and soft mouth, youthful green eyes and freckles, the faint scar on his chin, and of course the exquisitely curled dark ram's horns that spiral from his skull, he's certainly a unique beauty.

 

He realizes he's staring and turns his attention back down to his food, cutting up his salmon so he can actually eat it. There's something so endearingly real about Lewis that he can't seem to get enough of. Normally by now, after already having sex (of some sort) with his newest fling, he'd be getting over them. But something about Lewis is keeping him tangled, and he's pretty sure it's not a bad thing.

 

Lewis busies himself with his breakfast, even though he’s itching to wash off Crane’s ear at least, get the blood that’s crusted around his wounds cleaned off. He holds himself back from remarking on any of Crane’s injuries, even though his heart leaps painfully each time Crane winces as he takes a bite of salmon. It’s Cynda all over again, except almost worse – at least with his sister he could give her a place to hide, at least he was certain from the start he could take on her father. This time he’s helpless, scared to even offer to help with Crane’s wounds.

 

He glances up for a moment and meets Crane’s slitted green eyes. “What?” He says, his voice coming out a little more harshly than he means it to.

 

"You're very good looking," Crane sees no reason to lie or hide what he's thinking. "I was just… admiring your face. Do you know you're good looking?"

 

“I… not really, but thanks,” He mumbles, looking down at his oatmeal again. “You too. For an old man, I mean. You’re what, 40?”

 

"39," Crane chuckles, reaching up to scratch the itchy dried blood around his ear. "You were close. "

 

“So old as hell.” Lewis answers. He sets his spoon down, unable to take the sight of Crane’s ear any longer. “Look, let me wipe off your ear, for fuck’s sake. It’s gonna get infected.”

 

Crane's smile from the joke drops instantly with a sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." He knew it was foolish to hope Lewis wouldn't say anything. He just hopes he won't open the floodgates now. He really doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to give the boy any more guilt than he might already be carrying.

 

He doesn't want to see him frown anymore. His heart is pounding in his chest as he moves over to one of the beanbag chairs and sits cross-legged as he waits for Lewis to approach him with the cloth. His ear twitches slightly in the younger man's touch. They're silent for a while, tension building, and Crane has to break it.

 

"I'm sorry," he whispers softly. "For this. I don't usually… have anybody to care."

 

Lewis has to close his eyes for a moment to control himself. He wants to shout, he wants to cry, to rage against how unfair this is, how Crane doesn’t deserve this, no one does, no one ever will. Instead he settles for a deep breath, in and out, and bending carefully over Crane’s wounded ear, cleaning it gently with the wet kitchen towel in his hand.

 

“You really, really don’t need to apologize,” He says quietly, wiping away the crusted blood as carefully as he can. “It’s…you’ve done so much for me. And I’m gonna bet you didn’t ask for this,” He swallows his anger at Titanium for the thousandth time, storing it with the rest of his rage. He’s silent for a moment, concentrating on cleaning out the dried blood, and suddenly he remembers the way Crane told him a story when he was sick the first night he came to the apartment.

 

“Hey.” He murmurs, smoothing over his horns with his free hand self-consciously, “Wanna hear about my sister?”

 

"Does she have horns, too?" Crane asks with a little smile. He didn't expect Lewis would have a sister. He seems like such a lone wolf. Er, sheep. He pats the beanbag chair opposite him to encourage the other man to sit down. He settles more comfortably in his own bag as he waits for the story to begin.

 

“She doesn’t,” He says, laughing a little bit. “She’s really just my half sister – we have the same mom. I didn’t know her growing up. She’s… a lot better than me, in a lot of ways. She spent three years trying to find me back on earth, and I didn’t make it easy on her since I was moving around all the time. But she finally got in touch with me and I went to Boston to meet her – that’s a big city on the coast, basically – and she was just… probably the best person I’ve ever met.” He closes his eyes and refrains from saying, “aside from you”.

 

“She’s a lot like you actually,” Is what he does say, when he opens his eyes. “She’s quiet and tough and smart. A hell of a lot smarter than me. And her dad used to beat the shit out of her.”

 

Lewis pauses, remembering the first time he saw Cynda’s face ringed with bruises, the way she coughed up blood one time, the way she told him she didn’t want to talk about it. He isn’t sure he wants to talk about it either, and he isn’t sure it’s going to help Crane at all, but he’s brought it up now, and he has to keep going.

 

“I used to make her stay over at my apartment when he beat on her too bad for her to go home.” He says quietly, staring at the floor. “I couldn’t afford any heat, so we were freezing, but it was better than wondering if she’d get killed. And then….” Lewis trails off. He’s so stupid. He started this story without thinking, without considering that there’s no funny ending, no twist, nothing but blood and pain and things he still doesn’t want to talk about.

 

“She’s okay, though. Her dad… died. And she’s in school to become a social worker – she’s gonna help other kids who get beat up. And that’s the story of my sister Cynda.” He finishes lamely, knowing in his heart that this was just an exercise in futility. Well, shit. At least maybe Crane can make fun of him and take his mind off his bruises.

 

Crane recognizes the look in Lewis' eyes when he mentions the death of his sister's father. But he won't say anything about it now. It doesn't matter that he's seen that look reflected back at him in the mirror before. Lewis doesn't need to know that.

 

Silence hangs between them, hard and thick, and Crane licks his lips. "So where'd the horns come from?" he asks, gesturing to them with his chin. "Do they come off? Can you feel through them? Can I touch them? I'm sorry, I guess I had more questions about your horns than I thought. I've never met a person with horns before. Well… I have. But they weren't human."

 

“Honestly?” Lewis says, relieved beyond measure to get off the topic he brought up, “I have no idea where they came from. Neither of my parents had them. I’m thinking it must be some kind of recessive thing but I don’t… have much of a family history to speak of. They don’t come off though. Trust me, I’ve tried.” He tries to laugh lightly, but it still comes out forced. “I like ‘em now, but when I was a kid? I mean, I’m sure you know –when you’re a kid anything that makes you different is awful.”

 

He runs his hand over his horns again, smiling slightly. “When I quit high school and went on the road, I met some other people with weird shit like this – like there was a guy with webbed fingers who I was friends with for a long time, and another kid with bright green skin. I actually met this one girl who was kind of a cat, like you – she had fur, I mean, but still. I dunno how it is up here, but down on Earth we’re all still human, just… weird. I couldn’t say how it works.” He shrugs, looking back up at Crane.

 

“My horns and ears are pretty tame, considering. And as far as feeling goes, it’s kind of like they’re fingernails – I can feel pressure on ‘em, but not much else. And… you can touch them if you want to. I mean, you already have.” He tries not to blush and fails.

 

Crane, who had started to reach to touch, pauses in midair when Lewis suggests he's already touched them. He clears his throat and nearly drops his hands. "Well… I didn't really… touch them on purpose. I sort of brushed around them."

 

He wonders what kind of touch Lewis was expecting and starts to second-guess himself, he wonders if it was polite to ask to touch them at all - a weird thing to worry about considering a couple days ago Lewis' dick was down his throat - and then he realizes all at once that he's _nervous_. He's nervous because he's afraid to mess up, because _he's afraid to lose Lewis._

 

This realization smacks him so suddenly in the face that his hands drop down into lap and he stares up at the other man like the Heavens have just opened up over his head. This is such a foreign, brand-new feeling. It's like hope and helplessness at the same time. Joy and fear combined - he wants to do whatever it takes to keep Lewis nearby while simultaneously worrying about everything that could go wrong to make him leave.

 

God, how do people handle crushes? He's 45 seconds in and already dizzy.

 

“Oh,” Lewis mumbles, suddenly embarrassed. “I… sorry. I was half asleep. Not like I didn’t enjoy –” He stops himself, almost biting his tongue, and then wonders why the hell he’s being like this. Crane has literally given him a blowjob in an alley. The time for shyness is clearly long past. But he’s still a blushing idiot kid, and Crane’s cool eyes are still watching him, inscrutable.

 

“You can, though. Touch my horns, I mean. Still.” He stammers, shifting uncomfortably in his beanbag chair.

 

Crane doesn't want to reach awkwardly across the gap, so he climbs off the bag and kneels in front of the taller man so they're at about face height. Cautiously, he reaches up and closes his fingers around both of Lewis' horns.

 

He's not sure what he was expecting. They're firm and bumpy, with the slightest amount of fuzz on them like a deer's antlers almost. He supposes that has something to do with mixing with human DNA, since they have fuzz all over them (just like he does.) He runs his hands down along them, following the curve, staring at them intently as he does so. He doesn't realize that Lewis is watching his face, the microexpressions evident in his expressive brow as he takes in all the sensations of touching Lewis' horns.

 

This feels… intimate. Like it's probably not a thing just anybody does. He ghosts his fingertips across the texture, allowing the velvety curls to wrap around his digits on his way back down to the base. He tickles the very edge, feeling where they grow out of his skull with a ring of cartilage around the base. They're incredible structures, powerfully built and beautifully natural. He's not sure how long he's been touching Lewis' horns at this point.

 

He finally looks down, green eyes meet green. Crane blinks once, slowly and then asks in a small voice, "Can I kiss you again?"

 

Lewis shuts his eyes, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs. He leans forward and kisses Crane, the sensation of whiskers and blunt muzzle strange and electrifying against his lips. He draws back momentarily, laughing.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, you can,” Lewis mumbles, and kisses him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, more porn already?

Kissing is even nicer the second time. It's not rushed or unexpected. Crane doesn't have to think about it or wonder if he's doing it right. He doesn't have to compare it to anything, he can just let it happen. The kiss is gentle and shallow, with no real expectations. His tongue darts out, the very tip licking across Lewis' lips affectionately and he realizes he's still gripping his horns, so he releases them in favor of cupping the younger man's face.

 

Slowly, like he's afraid to startle a wild animal, he crawls into Lewis' lap. The beanbag is big enough for both of them, and he settles over his thighs comfortably. He tilts his head like he's seen humans do and licks Lewis' lips again. He doesn't have lips in the traditional sense, but he does have some kind of rim where his mouth opens, and there are apparently a lot more nerve endings there than he thought.

 

When the kiss is broken and both of them are breathing a little harder, Crane leans in with purpose and rubs his face across Lewis' cheek and down his chin, and then repeats the action on the other side of his face, rubbing his scent into the younger man's throat and hair.

 

Lewis moans quietly, tilting his head to the side as Crane nuzzles his neck. He can hear him purring, feel the rumble deep in his chest as Crane presses against him. Lewis’s arms creep around his waist, pulling him closer carefully, still mindful of his bruises.

 

Lewis can feel himself getting hard already, but he doesn’t want to rush anything – for now it’s more than enough to run his fingers down Crane’s velvety back, feel his breath on his skin. Crane shifts his weight deliciously on Lewis’s lap and Lewis sucks in his breath, shutting his eyes again. He reaches up with one hand to cup the back of Crane’s head, drawing him in for another kiss, strange and awkward and wonderful.

 

At this point, Crane's not sure how he survived the last 25 years without kisses. The electricity it shoots across his skin is a force he swears could move the earth itself. His body feels spread apart, stretched thin like rice paper - every touch on his beaten frame is overwhelming. He breathes through Lewis' lungs, their tongues just barely brushing as he clings to the younger man like a buoy.

 

His body rocks with a will of its own, pressing their chests and bellies together as the kiss deepens unhurriedly. He swears he can feel tears in his eyes, but he doesn't want to confront them or what they might mean right now. He just wants those fingers to tickle down his back, he wants those soft lips against his, he wants to feel the percussion of Lewis' heart against his bare chest.

 

Lewis' erection beneath him burns him like hot iron, searing through layers of cloth to scald a brand into Crane's inner thigh, adding to the constellation of marks rippling his skin. He feels the tears roll down his cheeks, he won't address them. He finally breaks the kiss and stares foggily into Lewis' eyes, rocking his hips down hard to make the younger man moan. Never in his life has he wanted to sleep with someone so badly. And yet, he doesn't want to rush it.

 

For the first time in his life, he doesn't want to rush it. He needs it, but his need is a slow burn. He'll let it catch and roar for a while before he acts on it. For now he is content just to kiss, to explore, to feel, to be.

 

When Crane meets his eyes, Lewis goes bright red. He has to look down, away from the depth of emotion he can see in Crane’s pale face. He’s not ready to look yet – he has to keep telling himself this is real, that Crane really wants him. His heart is pounding so loud he’s sure Crane can hear it. This is beyond… he’s had crushes before, he’s had relationships and lovers, but this feels nothing like anything that’s come before. It feels bigger, scarier, but more exciting at the same time, more like flying. And despite knowing that he’s known Crane for less than two weeks, Lewis catches himself thinking, _he feels like home._

 

"Let's go to the bed," Crane says without any real intention in mind. He just wants to lie with him and be comfortable. He climbs off his lap backwards and they crawl into the bed together, limbs sprawling in a tangle.

 

It will take a while for Crane to learn the language of Lewis' skin, but he wants to know every word. He wants to be fluent in the younger man's body, he wants to touch and taste and feel every nerve ending. He wants to watch Lewis writhe, he wants to watch him lose himself. But he wants to take his time, take his own sweet time.

 

Clothing is peeled from their bodies, laying vulnerable every secret scar. It's a baring experience, putting trust in another person enough to be naked with them. There's nothing left to hide behind, nothing to hide the insecurities and the marks left behind by stories too heavy to speak out loud.

 

The kisses spark heat that rolls through their bodies, Crane rolls over so Lewis is on top of him and wraps rangey legs around his hips, clutching his horns to claim his mouth. He hangs a sign behind Lewis' teeth with his tongue that bars entry for anyone else, and he rolls his hips against the larger man's, his cock slowly sliding part of the way out of its sheath to rub together.

 

He gasps against Lewis' teeth, rutting against his hips, rolling his powerful spine, blossoming friction between their organs that sends shockwaves shuddering through tired muscles. Lewis groans and reaches between his own legs to grasp Crane’s penis, holding it gently, almost nervously.

 

“Does this… do you like this?” He mumbles, stroking slowly, his fingers exploring the new organ. He’s never encountered genitals like Crane’s before – it’s close to a human penis, at least as far as it’s long and erect and has a distinct head, but it’s enveloped by a fold of skin at the end and there’s a spot on the underside of the shaft that feels… different, almost like the skin’s been pulled apart to reveal a deeper level of his penis inside. Lewis brushes his thumb lightly across the shallow opening and is immediately rewarded with a low cry from Crane. He grins in spite of himself, letting Crane pull him down into another passionate kiss.

 

“Tell me if… if you want me to do something different…” Lewis gasps, all too aware of the way Crane’s slim chest rumbles against his own – Crane is still purring and there’s something so alluring, so attractive and sweet and endearing about that sound.

 

While most of the people Crane has bedded have never slept with another feraline before, none of them have ever been so genuinely curious, exploring his anatomy like this. He gasps over and over, his hips jerking, his ears folded back as he clings to Lewis like dew.

 

"Oh god- oh god, that's- oh my-" he tries to articulate, lightning shooting out beneath his skin. He throws his head back with a cry when Lewis grinds his thumb across the ribbed flesh inside the opening and his nails rake down the man's back. He's shivering, the purring in his chest growing even louder, stimulated by the hot bliss rolling over his body like the shallow splash of waves making love to a beach. His breath is high in his throat as he's washed out into that sea.

 

It occurs to him he should let the kid know what he's touching exactly - his penis is so different from the human's, there are so many extra parts - but he can't form words. Stars burst behind his misty eyes and all he can do is cry out and buck his hips.

 

He needs more. He forces his brain to focus for long enough to gasp, "Together- pump them together."

 

“F..fuck…” Lewis groans, arching his back as Crane’s claws trail down it, eyes rolling up in ecstasy. He tries to listen to what Crane’s saying but he’s too distracted by the movement of Crane’s hips against him, the way the other man shudders in his arms, the sound of his own pulse in his ears. Crane’s saying something. Lewis has to force himself to concentrate, even though it feels like his body is lighting up wherever Crane touches him.

 

As soon as he can understand Crane he feels like he’s missed something important. “Pump what… together?” He gasps, breathing heavily, still incredibly aware of Crane’s fuzzy skin shifting against his. He catches his breath in his throat as Crane writhes beneath him. He reluctantly drops his hand from Crane’s cock to catch at one of Crane’s paws, closing it with some effort around his own hand. “Show me.” He murmurs, closing his eyes and bending down to kiss Crane once more.

 

Crane obeys. He can't possibly do anything else. He lines their shafts up side by side, wraps his hand around them, and pumps them in one movement. He breathes against Lewis' neck, his chest vibrating thunder, his mind spreading out across the galaxy.

 

He's never felt like this before. Clumsy but safe, hot and quiet, slow and serene, he feels like there are thousands of lights shining from Lewis' skin onto him and warming him from the inside out. He's made love before, but it's never _made him love_ before.

 

Sharing breath, he wonders how long it takes to love someone. He's probably not got the best track record in romance to really ponder a question like that. He falls in love like a grenade, fast and loud and destructive. Never like this, where it's slow and aching, like there's a part of him threatening to cave in if he isn't filled in just the right way by this man.

 

His tail coils around Lewis' shin, and he didn't exactly mean to mew like that but somehow, he knows, Lewis won't judge him for it. Through scattered thoughts, he decides there is no time limit on love. There are no rules, there's no guidebook, and there's certainly no finish line. There's no list of achievements one must fulfill before they can say they love a person. It's without boundaries or reason, beyond definition or description.

 

He heard once that love is all-consuming. He wouldn't know. He's never loved someone strong enough to know. But now, with tears blinked down his wrinkled cheeks like waterfalls that have waited thousands of years to pour, he thinks he could admit - if only to himself - he might love this boy. If not in the traditional way, then some way. _Any_ way.

 

Lewis buries his face in Crane’s shoulder, clinging to him, pressing against him, trying to touch every available inch of him. He cries out quietly, muffling his voice against Crane’s velvet skin, thrusting his hips slowly. He clutches at Crane’s back, pulling him in close. His head feels light, floating, almost like he’s about to disconnect from his body and float away.

 

There’s a strange sensation of pliable metal wrapping around his leg and he hears Crane make a small noise of pleasure – he can barely hear it over the roaring in his ears but he squeezes Crane tighter nonetheless. Every noise the other man makes, every quiet breath that warms Lewis’s skin, feels like a blessing.

 

As Crane’s paw strokes over them both, Lewis tries to last - he wants this to go on forever, he wants to live in this haze of expectation and safety and arousal and… he isn’t ready to call it love. Crane purrs louder still, his hand catching the head of Lewis’s dick at just the right angle, jolting their cocks together in a way that’s unbearably satisfying. Lewis tries to muffle the sound he makes as he’s coming, biting his lip, but he still twists in Crane’s arms as he ejaculates, all speculation, all fear lost in the feeling of intimacy and safety that the older man provides.

 

Crane holds Lewis close as he comes over their naked bellies, painting them with his pleasure. He gasps and arches his hips through his own answering orgasm, the pleasure rolling through him soft and slow, seeping into every corner of his body in pulsing waves.

 

He feels so close to Lewis right now, he's not ready for this to end. He's never felt so close to a person before. He's been physically closer, but it's never been like this in all his years, in all his partners, never like this. He's never fallen in love first, before anything else. He's never fallen in love so early that the rest is just waiting to be proven wrong.

 

When they finally come down, he arches his neck up and washes kisses over Lewis' jaw and neck, sandpaper tongue tickling his skin and his purring calms to a quieter pitch. He cups Lewis' face and forces the younger man to look at him.

 

"Will you stay?" he asks in a cautious voice.

 

Lewis blinks hard, telling himself not to get all emotional, that his eyes are only watering because he’s trying to see in the dim light. Crane’s face is inches from him, the bruises across the side of it a dark stain across the cat’s white skin. Hope and affection are radiating from his bright green eyes, drawing Lewis in, fascinating him, keeping him warm.

 

His heart gives a funny lurch and he has to swallow hard before he can answer.

 

“If… as long as you want me. Yes.” The words comes out quiet, almost a whisper.

 

"I want you," Crane whispers back, resting his forehead against Lewis' with a warm sigh. Want he's familiar with, being wanted back is new. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll wanted a lesson in alien cat dick anatomy

The days pass in serenity. Crane isn't used to this kind of peace. He never knew how badly he wanted a companion until now. And now that he has it, he's consumed with fear that he'll lose it. His hours are spent trying to think about what it would be like to lose Lewis at this point while simultaneously actively not thinking about it.

 

His bruises fade, but he knows Lewis' anger doesn't. They never do talk about why Crane was beaten, but they don't have to. Lewis knows, and Crane knows Lewis knows. They don't need to address it. The young man's anger is molten enough as it is.

 

Sleep comes easier with someone to cuddle up to, and waking up to another face is so comforting. They rely on one another for stability and consistency at this point, losing it would be rattling. Sometimes when he wakes up before Lewis, Crane will just look at him and catalogue his freckles. He imagines where he would be right now if he'd never found Lewis in that basement, how lonely he would have remained. He didn't even realize how lonely he was until he was brought out of his loneliness by this silly sheep. Velvet curls wrap around his fingers when he plays with Lewis' hair and he thinks about fate.

 

Fate was never a thing he particularly believed in. But if he hadn't found Lewis, he would have died down there, in a matter of days. Savior seems like such a strong word- but then again, Lewis saved him too. Lewis saved him from slowly dying alone.

 

Lewis was reluctant to let Crane go out on his next assignment. The bruises had only just faded. Crane couldn't express how much it meant to him to be worried over. He came home unharmed two days later to kisses and hot dinner. Jokes of having a housewife passed over bites of grilled fish and they made love.

 

The only thing that keeps Crane from feeling totally at peace is the constant, nagging fear that Lewis will do something foolish in regards to Titanium. He avoids bringing him up in conversation because the flickers of anger on the young man's face worries him, as though Lewis will forget he works for the madman if he just stops talking about it. It's all he can do.

 

Whenever there's a gap in conversation, he thinks about it. About what he would do if he lost Lewis to Titanium again. About how far he would go to rescue him, if he would die for him. Or with him. That thought is even scarier. When they lie in bed side by side now after making love, facing one another, it's all Crane can think about. He brushes silk curls over Lewis' velvet ear, rubbing his thumb into the long shell with a sigh.

 

He has to talk about something, or he'll agonize all night. It might be cheesy to ask, but they're still clinging to their afterglow in the dim sunset, so he chuckles, "Was it good for you?" After all, they've shared this bed intimately few enough times to still count on one hand.

 

Lewis rolls his eyes, grinning in spite of himself. “You’re so fucking lame,” He laughs, scratching lightly behind Crane’s ear. “Of course it was. Why, you didn’t have a good time?”

 

It’s unreal to Lewis that he can even ask the question, let alone joke about it. The last few weeks have felt like a dream, as cliché as that sounds. The sting has gone out of Crane’s absences when he leaves on assignment, although the fear is still there – every time Crane comes home unharmed he has to work to keep the relief from showing plainly on his face.

 

And when Crane is there, it’s wonderful. They talk about nonsense, tell each other funny stories, snipe harmlessly at each other, steal kisses, fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

 

There’s a lot they aren’t talking about, of course, and there’s still times when they have to skate around a certain topic like it’s a thin spot in the ice. But even with that, Lewis can’t remember the last time he felt safe like this. It’s the first time he hasn’t had to watch himself around a lover, the first time he’s let himself relax enough to be even a little bit vulnerable. Even with his two Big Exes, it was never this easy to trust that Crane would come home and like him just as much as before. He would never have been able to ask Liam casually if he was enjoying sex. And Sara? Never could have asked at all. But with Crane it’s as simple as a joke, and he knows Crane wouldn’t lie back to him.

 

Quiet purring unfolds in Crane's chest when Lewis scratches his ear and he rolls his neck to present himself with a content yawn. "It was _okay_ ," he teases with a smile, the wrinkles of his face pulled tight with mirth. He rolls over on top of Lewis, tickling up his side with the tip of his chilly metal tail.

 

Propping up on his elbows, he rubs his cheek across Lewis' jaw and licks the corner before nuzzling into his throat and teasing his long ear with his cold wet nose. Switching to the other side, he mirrors the expression by rubbing again across his cheek and neck. His purring intensifies when Lewis' hands pet down his back and he smoothes his face over Lewis' shoulder, licking his collarbone.

 

His ear twitches when Lewis' breath fans across it and he rubs the opposite cheek over his lover's other shoulder, his fingers kneading unconsciously into the blankets under them. Lewis closes his eyes, a wide smile spreading across his face as Crane nuzzles at him.

 

“It’s nice when you do that,” He mumbles, leaning his head to the side, distracted by the starburst of sensation where Crane’s face brushes against his skin. He’s always had a sensitive neck.

 

"I'm glad you like it," Crane hums, eyes closed contentedly. His words vibrate lowly with his purring as he sighs into Lewis' ear and grooms his hairline for a moment. "I'm marking you."

 

“How d’you mean?” Lewis sighs, still only half paying attention to the conversation. The rest of his attention is taken up with the way Crane’s rough tongue laps at his face. He strokes the other man’s back softly, enjoying the way he purrs louder.

 

"Well," Crane stops grooming him in order to rub against his neck again. "It would be easier if you had fur. It doesn't stick as well on skin."

 

"It?" Lewis questions lazily.

 

"My scent," Crane props himself up on his elbows and looks down at the younger man. He taps his cheek with one fingertip. "I've got a… gland here, I guess. Three of them, actually. I can rub my scent on you. If you had fur it would sink in and stay a while. But you keep showering so I have to put it back. It's… marking territory, I suppose. It doesn't mean much without anybody else to smell it, but if you ever meet another feraline they'll know you're claimed."

 

Lewis is paying attention now. He goes bright red, ducking his head even though by this point he’s had to get used to Crane seeing him blush. “Sorry about my hairless body,” He jokes to cover up the way his heart jumps at the word “claimed”. From anyone else he’d be angry, but he knows from Crane it’s more than ownership, more than a compliment. It’s commitment. “Can I… do you mind if I ask you some stuff about your species?”

 

"If I can ask questions about yours too, sure," Crane folds his hands on Lewis' chest and rests his chin on them. His tail flicks back and forth curiously.

 

“I mean, I’m not exactly the typical human,” Lewis laughs, gesturing up at his horns, “but yeah.” He shifts slightly so he can look comfortably down at Crane, while still keeping him circled in his arms.

 

“Do you know if you’re related to cats… like, earth cats? Sorry if that’s rude.” He adds, remembering the kid in elementary school who used to bleat at him and ask why he wasn’t in a zoo. Comparisons to animals are inevitable for both of them, but he’d rather not touch a nerve if he can help it. “Are you from here, or Olympus, or...? I mean, Feralines in general.”

 

"We are related, actually. We started out as some kind of human science project about seven hundred years ago. And then we escaped the labs and started breeding. That's what's in all the books, anyway," Crane scoots forward to nudge Lewis' chin with his cold nose. "Eventually there were so many of us that the humans gave up trying to contain us - I'm sure you've heard the term 'herding cats - and they gave us our own planet. Granted… it's not a very good planet. It's called Rising Star, and it's really more of an asteroid with an atmosphere, but even that is manufactured. It's just a big tourist trap, it's smoggy and grey - save for all the neon signs - and covered from end to end in casinos and other trashy establishments like water parks and hotels made entirely out of glass, etcetera. What the humans didn't realize is there's an enormous wealth of diamond deposits on Rising Star and by the time they figured it out, we were already establishing our own mines so they couldn't legally take it from us. I got away basically as soon as I could, it's almost always night time there because the smog from all the mining is just so damn thick it blankets the skies. Nothing grows there, I didn't see a tree until I was 22 years old."

 

As someone who’s lived his life almost entirely in rural settings, Lewis can’t help making a disgusted look at Crane’s description of Rising Star. “Sounds like Vegas,” He says disdainfully. “No wonder you left.” He raises his hand to stroke the top of Crane’s head softly. “I never heard of it.” He admits a little guiltily. “Not like I was a great student but… is that where most of your people are still?”

 

Crane nods, tilting his head into the contact. "It's not easy to get away. It's a very poor planet, except for less than 1% of the population who monopolized and controls the diamond mines. Everyone else either parades themselves in sequins and feathers in the casinos trying to convince drunk tourists to get drunker and spend money, or they work in the mines. Which are dangerous to say the least. The common person doesn't have enough money to get away. You can either provide for your family or save your money and hope you don't starve in the time it takes to save up enough to get a ticket off."

 

“But you did,” Lewis says, thinking but not saying thank god. He opens his mouth to ask about it and thinks better of it immediately – Crane’s letters are somewhat vague on the topic of his family, but they’re enough to tell Lewis that it’s not a great idea to bring them up, especially in the warm afterglow of sex. Instead, he defaults back to teasing.

 

“Is every feraline as small as you, or are you just a runt?”

 

Crane sneers playfully and sticks his tongue out. "We're all fairly small. There are a few orders that are taller than others - the siamese, the orientals, maine coons are all giants - but for the most part we're a petit species. Some are even smaller than I am, like the manx or calicos, and don't even get me started on the singapuras. I'm average for my order. Or… I guess you would say 'breed,' it means the same thing."

 

“And…” Lewis pauses, unsure why he’s embarrassed about this when Crane is lying naked across his chest. Maybe it just feels like something he should have asked before. He makes an effort to organize his thoughts. “I know I joked about it earlier, but… you're literally a different species. You don’t have the same type of dick as me… is there, uh, is there something I can be doing better?”

 

A smile spreads across Crane's face. "You're the first person to ever ask me that," he says as he sits up and straddles Lewis' belly. "Prop up, I'll give you an anatomy lesson."

 

He situates himself so his balls rest on Lewis' belly, and he presents himself. "Obviously I have testicles just like yours," he says with a chuckle and gently fingers the soft flesh half-attached to his belly, "This is my sheath. Not a lot of nerve endings on the outside of this, it's only about as sensitive as the back of my hand. But inside the hole- " he gasps a little as he extends a claw and slips it into the hole at the tip. "Very sensitive."

 

Lewis nods, mock serious. “I’m taking notes.” He says, slipping his hand around Crane’s ass.

 

"Don't be a jerk," Crane whips Lewis' shins lightly with his tail, but smiles in spite of himself. With a breath, he slowly extends his soft penis out of its shaft, only about three inches in length flaccid. He chuckles when Lewis' eyes widen.

 

"Is that… voluntary?" the younger man questions.

 

"Most of the time, yes," Crane says as he handles the organ delicately. "It's definitely an action that requires motor thought, but it is possible for us to get so aroused that we can't physically keep it in the sheath anymore. To an extent, we can keep our erections sheathed and nobody will know the wiser, but there comes a point where it fills with too much blood to stay hidden."

 

He gently lifts his penis to show off the underside, which has considerably more 'bits' than the upperside. With one claw he dexterously holds the soft flesh aloft and traces another claw along the underside. The double-ridged head comes to an apex where all four creases beneath meet in a sunken part, and Crane gestures to the tiny hole. "This is the pinspot," he says without actually touching it. "It has one job, and that's to keep the penis lubricated. You may have noticed that mine is considerably wetter and pinker than yours - that's because it doesn't really have skin in the traditional sense. So if it dries out, it can not only hurt a lot, but it can causes rashes, it can get infected - it's just a nasty business."

 

He gently taps the spot and a slow trickle of clear lubrication slides down the underside of his penis, and he shudders. "A fringe benefit of the pinspot is its high nerve density. It's incredibly, _debilitatingly_ sensitive. It's difficult to stimulate because of its size, so there's a lot of sounding amongst feralines for this little spot. I'm personally not fond of _things_ going in there, but to each his own."

 

Lewis is actually taking mental notes now, thinking of ways he can use this information the next time they have sex. He’s a little relieved to see that he hasn’t overlooked any major differences in their anatomy – Crane’s dick still looks like a dick, even if it looks like it has two heads layered one right on the other. He’d feel like an asshole if there was something he’d missed, considering they’ve fucked a few times by this point.

 

“What else?” He inquires curiously, tilting his head so he can get a better look. He hopes he isn’t making Crane feel like he’s under a microscope, but so far the other man has shown no signs of discomfort.

 

"See this slit?" Crane traces a line up the center of the underside of his penis, all the way from the base to right beneath the lower crest of his head, flanked on either side by small ridges. "This is called the fold. There's really no functional purpose to it, but it flares open when a man is extremely aroused."

 

Holding his penis with one hand, he gently pries the slit open to expose the flesh underneath, and Lewis recognizes the grooved flesh hidden underneath, a darker shade of red contrasting his pink flesh. He hisses in a breath and gasps slightly at the stimulation. "In here are the ribs," he indicates the little raised ridges and valleys between them, following a line down the center to look like a ribcage. "They're almost as sensitive as the pinspot. When this spot is stimulated, it's heavenly. The fold doesn't always open though, only when the man is aroused past the point of no return."

 

Lewis tries his best to stifle the grin that creeps over his face. He remembers this opening from the first morning they slept together. “Aroused past the point of no return, huh?” He says, his attempts not to smirk entirely unsuccessful.

 

"Yeah, yeah, don't get full of yourself," Crane smirks back, letting his penis finally slip back into its sheath. He leans down on his palms and licks once across the younger man's lips, but then there's a great crash from outside and he sits ramrod straight, his ears flattening back and his eyes widening into round discs.

 

The crash is followed by a flash of lightning and suddenly there's a lack of Crane in Lewis' lap. The cat flung himself backwards and yanked a blanket down over his head right as the blackening sky outside opens up and it starts to pour. 


	12. Chapter 12

“Holy shit!” Lewis yells, jerking to his knees. He’s disoriented at first, exhilarated by the thunder and rain, his first instinct to pull on some pants and run outside, dragging Crane after him. It takes him a second to realize that Crane is hiding under the blankets like a little kid. He pauses, not sure exactly what to do. Crane seems so unflappable, so composed, and then he does something like this. Lewis isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to it. But that’s not really important right now – what matters is that Crane is freaking out and even though he can’t understand it, even though he's itching to at least watch the storm, Crane is scared and he wants to help.

 

The apartment is lit by another bright flash of lightning and Lewis hears a small yowl in the silence that hurts his heart. He drops back on his heels and feels around for Crane, blinded by the sudden flash. Crane is curled up all the way in the back of his bed, crushed up against the plush wall. He flinches when he feels Lewis' hands come down on him, but after a moment a pink nose followed by white whiskers peek out from under the blankets.

 

"I don't like thunderstorms," he says simply before jerking his face back beneath the covers. "Can you close the flap on the opening?" his words are muffled by the blanket pulled down over his head. As soon as he hears the cloth cover flap down into place, he peers out from under the blankets.

 

Lewis is slightly annoyed at missing the thunderstorm – he loves the wildness of them, the noise and catastrophe and rain streaking down. When he was a kid he used to stay up at night and watch lightning flash in the distance, watching the weather channel eagerly for thunderstorm and tornado warnings. But that annoyance is buried under concern for Crane.

 

“Here, move over,” He says quietly, slipping under the blanket to wrap himself around Crane. “The flap’s down. It’s still going to be loud, though.”

 

Crane pins his ears flat against his head with his palms, flinching when another crack of thunder rattles the windows. His tail curls around his own ankle and he squeezes his eyes shut. He never feels quite as helpless as when there's a thunderstorm raging around him. He's had to hold off on jobs and lose them entirely just because he's trapped inside by the rain. He's tried to face his fear once or twice, but it always chases him back inside with a panic attack and he hid either in bed or in the shower.

 

"I really hate thunderstorms," he repeats, turning over and curling face-first into Lewis' chest. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, almost as loud as the next roll of thunder outside that has Crane curling even smaller and whining low in his throat. Lewis wraps his arms around Crane’s trembling body, holding him close.

 

“It’s okay.” He murmurs into Crane’s ear, “You’re okay. I’m here.” He isn’t really sure what he’s doing –he doesn’t know how to comfort anyone, really. Thunder rumbles again and he feels Crane flinch and whine.

 

“Do you… how can I help?” He asks, stroking the back of Crane’s head. He hates himself for being annoyed, for wanting to leave. Even though he wants Crane to be safe, he’s still yearning to slip outside or at least open a window so he can feel the rain lashing against his face, stare out at the lightning forking across the sky. He holds himself in place by force of will, ignoring his impatience. Crane is more important.

 

"Distract me," Crane says hurriedly, nuzzling his face desperately against Lewis' chest. "Tell me a story. Tell me about your sister."

 

“Sure,” Lewis says. He bends his head over towards Crane’s large ears, speaking quietly, trying to regulate his voice.

 

“I never even knew she existed until I was 19.” He starts out, clearing his throat awkwardly. He’s never been a great storyteller. “I was living with my ex-girlfriend Sara in Las Vegas – that’s the place I mentioned earlier. Just imagine your home world in the desert and you’ll get the picture. It was awful. Anyway, Sara said someone had been by asking for me, some old guy, and I thought it was someone I’d applied for a job with so I called him up. Turns out my sister, who was fucking 17 years old at the time, had saved up enough money to hire a detective to come looking for me.” He has to laugh, thinking about it. He’d teased Cynda about it when he met her – how she’d saved her pocket change and allowance and the meager wages from her part time job for years, just because she’d heard she had a brother out there somewhere.

“I used to tell her I was a shitty return on her investment,” He closes his eyes, still stroking Crane’s back gently, remembering the way Cynda glared at him when he said it. “She owed this idiot a lot of money when he found me – like five hundred dollars at least – and because she was a kid working at an ice cream stand there was no hope of her ever paying him back, but he found me anyway, and when he did he just let it go. I never talked to the guy for more than an hour but he was just… a staggeringly good person.” He pauses as thunder crashes again and Crane shudders, making a small mewling noise.

 

Crane's back arches in every pass of Lewis' hand down his spine. His panting has calmed somewhat, but every time he thinks he has his panic under control, another flash of light illuminates his eyelids dimly or another crash of thunder rolls through his body and his heart lurches all over again.

 

"Where is she now?" he asks, trying to breathe evenly, looking for more distraction. "Is she still back on Earth? Do you want to go back to her? Do you want to bring her to you?"

 

Lewis feels his heart hitch and suddenly he’s stifling under the blankets wrapped around him. He sucks in air and tells himself it doesn’t matter, no one’s accusing him, Crane is scared and looking for distraction and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about…

 

It doesn’t work. His heartbeat accelerates, his breathing quickens until he’s almost panting. The bed feels suffocating, Crane’s slight weight on his arms unbearable.

 

“I- I’ll be right back. I’m sorry.” Lewis mumbles, extricating himself as quickly as he can. He feels Crane reach for him and scoots backwards, his heart breaking as he does so, but he can’t control himself – he’s got to leave, he has to be alone, even if it’s only for a minute. He stumbles out of the bed, gasping and naked, like he’s just escaped a tomb.

 

On one level he knows he’s being stupid, and worse, he’s abandoning Crane when he’s needed, he’s leaving him alone when he should be by his side. But at the same time he’s backing across the dark room, almost tripping over the bathroom doorway, stumbling backwards and catching himself against the shower as another flash of lightning illuminates the apartment. His pants are still crumpled on the floor from when he showered that evening, and he pulls them on automatically, trying not to think about Cynda’s round, pale face, the way her brown eyes welled up behind her dark glasses when he told her he was leaving. The only thing he’s really good at is leaving.

 

Well, shit. Crane wasn't aware of just how sensitive Lewis is on the subject of his sister. He'd talked about her so freely before, but he must have hit a nerve. He can't think about it too much, because another loud clap of thunder shakes the windows and he gives a feeble, involuntary yowl as he pulls the blankets tight around him again. He's fought thunderstorms alone before, he can do it again.

 

It feels so much bigger and worse alone now that he's experienced what it's like to be shielded by another's arms. His panting increases and in his panic-addled mind, all he can think of is how badly he just screwed up and how he should have known somehow that he can't talk about Lewis' sister. Logic means nothing to him in this state, as he shivers under his blankets.

 

"Lewis," he meows out into the darkness. "I'm sorry, I'm- god, please don't leave."

 

Too far away to hear, his heart hammering painfully in his chest, Lewis reaches out to open the bathroom window. He shoves it outward and the rain streaks in, clean and welcome on his burning face. He clambers out onto the fire escape outside Crane’s window, the cold metal under his bare feet like a blessing. He sinks down against the outer wall of the apartment, drawing his knees up to his chin and squeezing his eyes shut, letting the flashes of lightning play out against his closed eyelids. It’s far away, he keeps telling himself, it's all so far away.

 

When Lewis hadn't responded to Crane's first cry into the darkness, his initial thought is that the young man was ignoring him. So he called out louder, pleading for him to come back, apologizing over the thunder and the rain lashing the windows. He calls out promises that he won't bring up his sister again, he won't say a word if Lewis will just come back, he's so sorry. He doesn't want to be alone.

 

After Lewis doesn't respond for a couple moments, Crane thinks to himself (begs and hopes to god) that Lewis isn't honestly that cruel. He crawls to the front of his bed to look out, and hopefully he'll find Lewis… passed out or something. Anything to let him know that he's not _choosing_ to leave Crane in the dark.

 

But when a flash of lightning illuminates the apartment, he sees it's totally empty. There aren't any places for Lewis to hide, it's only one room, and the bathroom door is open… and empty. Lewis is _gone_. He yowls in fright and pain when another thunderclap rocks him to the core. He figured Lewis was sensitive on the subject, but that he would just leave entirely…

 

Lewis was soaked almost immediately, the downpour seeping into his clothes and dripping off his blonde curls. But he stays outside for another few minutes, trying to calm his breathing, trying to get himself to shut off again. And then there’s a lull in the storm and he hears a plaintive mew through the open window.

 

Lewis winces and hunches his shoulders like he’s been hit in the gut. That’s what it feels like, anyway. He didn’t even think about it. Crane’s been there this entire time, taking care of him, _saving him_ , and what does he do when he finally has the chance to actually show how much that means to him? He runs away.

 

Crane can't do anything but hide again, consumed with powerful, wracking emotions. His chest feels like it's caved in, his throat feels dry, all he can do is caterwaul in distress. All this time he's been so occupied with doing everything he can to keep Lewis nearby and just when things were starting to stick he chased him away for good in the middle of a panic attack because he couldn't watch his own goddamn mouth. He feels sick, and he curls in on himself trying not to waste tears.

 

It takes a concentrated effort for Lewis not to run again – not to slip down the ladder of the fire escape and hide in some rain soaked alley far enough away that he won’t hear Crane yowling alone. Lewis hates himself for having to try to stay. But he takes one last deep breath, tensing like he’s going into a fight, and crawls back through the bathroom window. The apartment is pitch black, lit by sporadic flashes of lightning. Lewis has never had good night vision, and he almost falls on his face before his feet find the cold bathroom tile.

 

“Crane?” He calls out quietly, scared to raise his voice in case he isn’t answered. He feels his way around the bathroom door, trying to navigate his way through the sparse main room. He stumbles over some invisible obstacle and bashes his arm against the wall, cursing under his breath. Over the roaring sound of the rain he can hear low, pitiful cries. Lewis’s mouth dries up.

 

“I’m sorry,” He says, slowly navigating his way across the hardwood floor towards the silhouette of the big cat bed. “I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t mean to leave, I shouldn’t have…” He stumbles again and catches himself hard on his hands in front of the closed flap. He can’t bring himself to go in, even though he knows it’s the only thing he can do to make things better.

 

Crane's ears prick at the sound of Lewis' voice and he throws the blanket off so he can sit up and swivel his ears in the direction of the sound. He swears he heard his voice, he heard it. Panting, he listens hard again, and when he hears Lewis' soft curse, he tears to the front of the bed and tosses the flap aside, paying no mind to the storm outside. He sees Lewis crouched on the floor, his pupils blown wide to take in all the light he can. Even the bright neon signs that usually light his apartment through the giant windows have been suffocated by the rain, but he can still see Lewis on his knees in a puddle.

 

"Lewis- " he pants, his eyes snap up to the open bathroom door. "Did you-- ?"

 

In another flash of lightning he sees the bathroom window wide open. Lewis really did leave… but he _came back_. He went out in the rain during flu season and it's Crane's fault if he gets sick. He vaults out of his bed, deft paws keeping him from slipping in the water as he grabs Lewis under the armpits.

 

"Up, you stupid ass," he hisses, dragging him back into the bathroom. He heaves the window shut and yanks on the shower dial, rattling hot water out of the head in moments. Checking it with one paw to make sure it won't burn, he urges Lewis into the hot stream jeans and all. The shower is too small for them both to fit with the door closed, but his bathroom floor is already soaked and he's more concerned for the man's wellbeing than the state of his damn tiles so he leaves the door open and crowds in with him. He shakes the cold water out of Lewis' hair, encouraging the hot water to seep over his shivering body as he corners him in the tiny stall.

 

"Don't leave again, please don't leave, I'm sorry," he babbles against Lewis' shoulder, smoothing hands down his chest and sides, trying to chase away the chill with his own skin. He knows logically he should be angry with Lewis for leaving, he should chase him away, hiss at him, lash at him with his claws. He shouldn't take him back, he should give him back the rewards of the seeds he just sowed. He supposes this forgiveness is what love is.

 

Lewis is lost in a haze of shame and misery as Crane grabs him, pulling him back into the darkened bathroom. He’s silent and tense the whole time Crane presses him into the shower, barely feeling the hot water running over his numb skin, gazing down at the floor and shouting at himself in his mind. He’s useless. He’s a burden. He’s making Crane afraid for him _after he left him alon_ e, after he should never have left him alone. He suddenly realizes he’s crying, and wipes at his eyes, horrified.

 

“I won’t leave… I shouldn’t have… I’m so fucking sorry…” He stutters, trying to keep the sobs out of his voice. The tears won’t stop pouring out of his eyes, and he’s absurdly grateful for the fact that he’s standing in a shower, soaked to the skin, because at the very least it’s masking the fact that he’s crying. A flash of lightning illuminates the bathroom and through his tear-blurred eyes he sees Crane’s expression, the loneliness and fear, and that does him in.

 

As Crane’s arms encircle him, he stumbles forward, tripping over the edge of the shower and almost smashing them both into the bathroom wall. He barely manages to catch himself, his bruised palm smacking into the wall, wrapping his arm protectively around Crane as they fall forward. They sink down to the wet tile floor together, Lewis laughing semi-hysterically and crying at the same time. He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep shuddering breath and trying to get a hold of himself – Crane needs him, he doesn’t need to make this worse, he doesn’t need to be worse than he already is.

 

“I’m so sorry,” He says again, whispering it into Crane’s neck, holding him close. “I’m so, so sorry. I swear to god I won’t leave again.”

 

"Shh," Crane soothes, smoothing his hand down the younger man's soaked hair. He doesn't need to tell him aloud that he forgives him, he knows Lewis knows. Cold tile on his back, cold Lewis in front of him, hot water seeping in puddles under them that match the puddles in their hearts, in their eyes, Crane holds his lover so tightly he might shatter him into dust.

 

They dry off in a haze and fall back into bed, the thunderstorm forgotten behind them. They kiss until they can't breathe and fall asleep with tears in their eyes, fingers entwined and holding close. 


	13. Chapter 13

By morning the whole thing would have seemed like a bad dream, if Lewis hadn't come down with a fever from the chill. Crane takes care of him wordlessly - dresses him, heats him soup, rests his downy head in his lap and plays with his hair while Lewis struggles to breathe through a congested nose.

 

They don't talk about last night. Neither of them are ready to confront just how badly they need the other. It's terrifying, it hurts to think about what would happen if they lost the other. While he sleeps, Crane slips out of the apartment for a very specific task, and luckily he's back before Lewis wakes up. Vegetable broth in tow, he gently wakes the sleeping man, crouched on his knees in front of the opening.

 

"Hey," he whispers, running his hand through Lewis' hair. "I've got something for you. Feel like dinner?"

 

It takes a long time for Lewis to struggle out of his feverish dreams. He’s been tossing and turning all day, trying to escape nightmares where Crane hates him, or is pulled away from him by clutching hands, and instead of helping he runs away. Sometimes Crane is replaced with Cynda, or Liam, or any of the other faces he left behind. He’s almost pathetically grateful to awaken to Crane’s real, physical face hovering over his head, his paws tangled in his hair, his whiskers tickling his face.

 

“Sure,” Lewis mutters gratefully, although he isn’t hungry at all. It’s enough to be awake and lucid and see Crane still there.

 

He allows Crane to help him to his feet, trying not to stagger as he makes his way to the kitchen table, where he’s greeted with a steaming bowl of vegetable broth. Lewis feels tears spring into his eyes again and blinks them away quickly.

 

“You didn’t have to…” He trails off, trying to grasp what he wants to say. It isn’t easy through the fever, but he manages to say it, even though he’s mumbling down at the dark wood grain of the kitchen table. “I fucked up last night. I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry. I love you.”

 

Crane pauses across the table where he'd started to reach into his bag. His chest feels tight all of a sudden, like Lewis has just reached across the table and crushed his lungs in both hands. He feels his lip quiver and his breathing start to shake. He feels dizzy and all of a sudden he needs to sit down very badly, abandoning his bag for now.

 

Silent tears drip down tired cheeks as Crane's heart rises into his throat. His head is spinning, trying to fathom all the violently swimming repercussions of that statement. Crane has known people for his whole life who have never told him they loved him.

 

His mother never said it. She was an unfeeling, brutal woman.   
His father certainly never said it. The only thing he loved was his own fat self.   
His sister never said it. She's hated him her whole life.   
His brother never said it, he'd been conditioned not to by parents with high expectations.

 

Friends and colleagues, people he's known for years. He wracks his brains, picks his memories, trying to prove wrong the one thing he's thinking, but he knows it's the irrefutable truth. He just doesn't want to admit it to himself and face all the bitter loneliness of his life.

 

It's taken thirty-nine years for anybody to tell Crane he is loved.

 

He covers his mouth with one hand, shaking from ears to toes, tears running down his face in faucet streams. Forty years of emotional isolation runs from his body all at once through his eyes, dripping to the table top as he chokes sobs into his palm. He wasn't aware until now how strongly he'd convinced himself he wasn't worth loving.

 

He knows he should say something, but he can't get enough breath into his body to speak through his smothered cries.

 

“Oh fuck….” Lewis reaches towards Crane, feeling his heart sink. He stumbles forward, sinking to his knees in front of where Crane is sitting and crying, feeling his own hot tears streaming down his face. “I didn’t mean… I’m so fucking sorry…” He shuts his eyes and bows his head, resting his hand on Crane’s knee like he’s a supplicant begging for forgiveness.

 

“Please don’t cry,” He mumbles, swallowing his own tears dizzily. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

 

Crane shushes him, lifting his face and licking away his tears, cleaning off saline and snot and saliva and whatever other fluids drain from the sick man kneeling in front of him. He smoothes hands over his hair and under his chin, touching him everywhere he needs to be touched.

 

"You didn't hurt me," he shakes his head with a shaky whisper. "You liberated me."

 

Lewis shakes his head slowly, his face contorted with unhappiness.

 

“You shouldn’t… I’m sorry…” He trails off, raising one hand to rub at his neck, unable to open his eyes or raise his head to face Crane. If he looks up and sees him still crying, or worse, if he sees him giving that look of love and forgiveness and acceptance… he feels like his heart will explode. He doesn’t deserve this. Not from Crane especially – not from the man he abandoned after rescue from death, not from the last person he wants to hurt in this world.

 

Trying to keep the tears he feels pricking at his eyelids at bay, Lewis lets his aching head drop, one hand still clutching at his neck protectively, the other dropping away from Crane’s knee.

 

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats numbly.

 

"No, don't be sorry," Crane speaks roughly, nosing Lewis' hairline with little kisses. "I have something for you." Lewis looks up over at the bowl of soup and the cat gives a bittersweet laugh. "Not that."

 

He drags his bag closer and reaches inside, fishing out a small box. Sniffling, he opens the tiny box and takes Lewis' hand, dumping the contents into his palm. A shiny new key catches sunlight on his palm, fixed to a little ring. Crane closes Lewis' fingers over the key.

 

"Staying doesn't mean never leaving," he whispers, brushing hair behind Lewis' ear.

 

Lewis accepts the key carefully, numbly. It’s hard and pointed in his hands, but it still takes him a moment to understand it through his fever. But when he does understand, it hits him like a tidal wave, and he’s crying again, clutching the key like it’s the only real thing in the world.

 

He finally raises his head, squinting up at Crane through teary eyes, mouth twisted with emotion. “This is…”

 

Crane nods, anticipating what he’s going to say, and Lewis swallows hard.

 

“Thank you,” He mumbles, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, still clenched tight around the key to Crane’s apartment. He makes a concerted effort to get himself under control, and manages to stand, leaning heavily on the kitchen table, and drop back into the chair across from Crane. He still can’t meet the cat’s eyes, but what else is new?

 

He takes a deep breath and swipes at his eyes again, finally managing to raise his face to the level of Crane’s mouth. It’s all he can do for now.

 

“I… I still mean it.” He says quietly, chest still hitching with suppressed emotion. “I’m not going to abandon you again. Promise.”

 

It scares him to give Lewis this freedom, the younger man won't rely on him to come and go anymore. It might mean coming home some time to find him gone one day, and waiting to see if he'll return. But Crane is willing to face that fear if it means having Lewis' absolute trust.

 

"I believe you," he says, reaching across the table to put his hand on Lewis' with a shaky smile. "I _trust_ you."

 

He takes Lewis' other hand, rubbing his thumbs over the younger man's knuckles. "This is your home," he speaks softly after a moment of silence shared for an eternity. "This is our home. I'll admit, I never really lived here much before. I couch hopped or I slept in my cruiser. This place has been weighed down by dust for so many years that you're leaving foot prints. But I want it to be our home."

 

Lewis has to cover his face in his free hand, his other hand still clutching the key tight, unwilling to pull away from Crane’s paws. He squeezes his eyes shut against the flood of tears threatening to overcome him, sniffing audibly. He doesn’t know how to explain that this isn’t something he’s ever had before, that even in his father’s house he’s never felt like he’s had a home , that the closest he’s ever felt was when he was starving and freezing in a mostly illegal apartment so he could be close to his sister. He doesn’t trust himself to say that he’s never even let himself dream of someone telling him he’s home.

 

“Okay,” He mumbles into his hand, and wipes at his eyes again. “I… thanks. I’ll…” he casts about for something that he means, something he can follow through on. Something that can encompass the rising feeling in his chest. “I’ll be here when you come home.” He says finally, raising his red-rimmed eyes to meet Crane’s for the first time that evening.

 

Crane kneels up on his chair and leans across the table to press his lipless mouth to Lewis' with tears drying on his cheeks. He rests his forehead against the younger man's and just breathes with him.

 

Dinner eaten, Crane brings Lewis to the shower and props up the dizzy ill youth with his own weight so he won't fall in the stall. Cradling Lewis backwards against his chest he massages shampoo into his hair and scrubs his chest and belly with soap, pressing kisses to his shoulders and neck between shared tears.

 

After this week Crane is pretty sure he won't cry again for the next forty years. He's gotten the last few decades' worth of tears out in just the last few days.

 

There's something very gratifying about taking care of Lewis like this. It makes him feel needed in a way Crane's not used to. It makes this place feel like home. It's a place where they get sick and cry together, a place where they make love and live together, a place where they can spend the rest of their lives slowly dying together.

 

Over the next few days Lewis spends a lot of time sleeping, so when he's unconscious Crane ducks out and buys little things for the apartment. He buys two rugs, one for the giant open space in his main room and one for the bathroom. He buys a potted plant to give them something to keep alive together. He buys a lamp because Lewis' eyes aren't like his, they have a harder time absorbing light like his eyes can do at night. He buys a second dresser just for Lewis' clothes and a whole set of cookware, since the man says he likes to cook, along with an entire rack of spices and herbs.

 

Slowly, the house turns more into a home. The space grows handsome and warm, corners filled with things that Crane never wasted space with before.

 

The entire time he’s sick, Lewis never lets go of the key. He won’t let Crane take it away from him, stuffing it in the pockets of his jeans or the pajama pants Crane eventually buys from him. In his delirium, he won’t let the key out of his sight – it’s his link to a world he never thought possible, where a handsome, funny, incredible man loves him enough to give him free access to his home. One afternoon, Crane leaves for an hour or two, and Lewis loses the key in the piles of blankets and pillows stacked in Crane’s bed, and almost has a heart attack before he finds it again. To his fevered mind, it’s the most important object in the world.

 

The first few days Lewis spends sleeping, roused by Crane to be fed mouthfuls of vegetable soup before lapsing into sleep again. Sometimes he wakes up and Crane is gone, and there’s a momentary crushing fear before he can touch his key again. A few times he tries to get up and do small tasks around the apartment – taking out the garbage, doing the dishes, cooking a simple dish – but each time he has to stop in the middle, and the rest of his stamina is taken up with cleaning up whatever small mess he’s made.

 

He’s never been this sick before. At first he’s terrified, waking up in the middle of the night as his body is wracked by coughing, wondering if he’s going to die. But Crane’s arms are always around him, and if they aren’t there’s still the key, biting into his palm, telling him he’s going to be okay.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous sickness in this chapter, you have been warned

Lewis wakes up (on what he eventually learns is the fourth day of his illness) coughing painfully, Crane still slumbering uneasily beside him. He chokes and covers his mouth immediately, clawing his way out of the large bed and barely making it to the bathroom before his coughs turn into gags.

 

Crane's sensitive ears pick up on the sounds before he's even all the way awake. He blinks awake to the very first light of dawn greying the sky outside his windows. It takes him a moment to register the sounds, but then he hears the distinct sounds of splashing an in an instant he's wide awake and flipping over onto his belly.

 

Clambering out of the opening in the front of the bed, he sees Lewis slumped in the bathroom making love to the toilet bowl he's so tightly clung to it. Clicking his tongue, Crane pads silently towards the bathroom.

 

"Hey, hey," he croons, dropping to his knees behind Lewis and instantly rubbing his back. He runs a hand up his forehead to gather his curls and holds them back out of his face. He chuckles, shaking his head. "Just like old times, eh?"

 

Lewis coughs again, swallowing painfully, wincing with every move. “F..fuck off, old man…” He snaps without any real anger, and retches once again, drooling into the toilet. “Get me some water if you wanna help –“ He breaks off into another fit of coughing.

 

Crane drops his hair and pads into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water for the younger man. He winces when he hears him gag, grabs an item from his bag, and quickly paces back over to the bathroom. He sits crosslegged beside the younger man and reaches forward to twist and pin his bangs back out of his face with the clever use of a pencil, before handing him the water bottle.

 

"Don't fight it," Crane tells him, reaching out to rub circles into his back again. "If this is a stomach virus after all, getting all of that bacteria out of your belly might help."

 

Lewis takes a deep swig from the water bottle, leaning back against Crane, breathing heavily. “I’m not fighting shit,” He snaps, and swallows hard, feeling Crane’s comforting hands on his back. “Sorry. It just – ugh – it hurts.” He drinks deeply from the water bottle again.

 

All Crane can do is cradle him from behind, pressed up against his back and rubbing his stomach and thighs and shoulders and anywhere he can reach. He rests his cold nose against the back of the young man's feverish neck, trying to give him any relief he can.

 

"I know it hurts," he hums, carding his fingers through Lewis' hair and tucking it behind his ears. "You're a tough guy, you can get through it. My big strong man." he rubs his cheek against Lewis' shoulders from behind, petting him as he shakes.

 

Lewis rolls his eyes, but he has to admit it feels good when Crane’s cold nose brushes against his skin. He's definitely never been this sick before. Crane’s arms are wrapped around him securely, and he can’t tell if the floating feeling he’s experiencing is fever or love. He gags again and vomits up more water. Shuddering, he spits into the toilet and collapses back against Crane, breathing heavily.

 

“That sucked,” He mumbles. It’s not entirely the truth.

 

"Shh, I know," Crane whispers, crooking his head around Lewis' neck to trace his nose across his cheek and chin. He rubs his hand in slow circles over Lewis' shuddering belly, the other bracing him across the chest to keep him upright. "Do you want to try to get back to the bed, or do you just want to sit here? I could bring some blankets and we can camp on the bathroom floor if you need to."

 

“B-better stay here.” Lewis says, stifling another gag. “I don’t wanna fuck up the bed.”

 

He leans heavily against Crane, closing his eyes. He’s sweating and shivering, his head is pounding. A thought occurs to him and he sits up, wincing at the movement. “I’m gonna get you sick,” He says, drawing away guiltily.

 

"No you aren't," Crane pulls Lewis back down against him. "I can't catch human illnesses. Our biology is too far apart. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just give me a tick and I'll be back."

 

He slips away from Lewis to the bed, gathering up all the blankets and pillows in his arms. He lays them out on the bathroom floor, creating a nice thick layer for them to lay on. He wraps a blanket around Lewis and cradles him from behind, doing his best to big spoon him despite being hilariously smaller. He purrs deep and loud in his chest, trying to give him a nice soothing white noise while he leans over to pet and groom his hair like he did the first night they shared together, hairballs be damned.

 

Lewis relaxes into Crane’s embrace, his own arms wrapped loosely around his stomach. He had tried to drink some more water while Crane was in the other room, sipping carefully, trying to keep something down so at least he won’t be dry heaving the next time he throws up. His head is unbearably heavy, aching, but Crane’s velvet tongue feels good on his feverish skin.

 

“Got what I deserved, huh?” He murmurs into Crane’s chest, barely audible.

 

"You don't deserve this," Crane's words rumble with his purring as he licks away Lewis' cold sweat. "At most you deserve a strong scolding. Not this."

 

“I’ll take the scolding if this’ll stop,” Lewis remarks dryly, his attempt to raise his voice above a whisper devolving into a hacking cough. He clenches his fists, trying to stop coughing, as Crane’s arms tighten around him. His stomach flips again and he groans, shoving Crane off him as gently as he can in order to get back to the toilet, where he slumps over the bowl, barely able to hold his head up. There’s no time to breathe before he gags again.

 

He feels Crane’s hands on him again, gathering his hair out of his face once more, and has to close his red-rimmed eyes against the rush of tenderness that overwhelms him. He reaches up to swipe at his nose and Crane grabs his arm and pulls it back down, pressing toilet paper into his hand instead.

 

“Don’t ruin one of your three shirts. You don’t want to see what I’d give you to replace it,” Crane says from somewhere behind him, and Lewis is startled into choking laughter as he blows his nose on the proffered tissues.

 

“That’s a real threat, shit-“ He interrupts himself with a retch.

 

"I'll put your thick ass into a corset, don't test me," Crane says lightly with a smile as he rubs circles into Lewis' back.

 

Once Lewis' stomach has calmed down a little, enough that he feels safe easing back on his heels and wiping his forehead with the edge of a blanket, he tries to get his breath back, wanting to drive away the feeling that the room’s floating around him. The only thing that feels like solid ground is Crane’s hands on his back, Crane’s voice in his ears.

 

"Get some rest, slugger," Crane says as he helps the young man lie down, and nests him amongst the blankets and in his strong arms.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Lewis has to spend most of the day in the bathroom, gagging unproductively over the toilet and then curling up on the tile floor and dozing fitfully. Every time he has to throw up, Crane is there within seconds to hold back his hair and stroke his back and hand him water afterwards. In the afternoon he feels Crane rouse him from a light slumber to tell him he’s going out to get medicine, and he nods and asks for some ginger ale before lapsing back into sleep. The next time he wakes up Crane’s bent over him, offering him aspirin and anti-nausea tablets and a small bottle of ginger ale to wash them down.

 

Lewis manages to keep the pills down, although a few hours later he wakes up coughing and has to vomit up the ginger ale he’s been drinking while Crane rubs his back and tells him he’ll be okay. By night time he’s feeling stable enough to let Crane help him up and lead him back to bed, and despite the fact that he spent almost the entire day dozing, he quickly falls asleep again, his head pressed against Crane’s chest so he can hear the other man’s heart.

 

The next thing he knows, it’s morning, and his fever has broken. When he opens his eyes the light doesn’t hurt his head, and he can breathe without hearing a crackle in his lungs. And he’s starving.

 

Crane isn’t in the bed, but he can hear movement outside the cloth flap, and when he pokes his head out, squinting, he sees Crane padding around the kitchen making breakfast.

 

"Hey," the cat sets down the plate he'd been preparing, pacing over to the bed and greeting Lewis with a cold nose to his forehead to test his temperature. "Your fever's gone. Has been for a few hours now. Thought I'd make you some breakfast since you're probably hungry by now. I don't know if you eat eggs, so I whipped up some rice pudding from an old recipe book and made some toast. Should be mild enough for your stomach right now."

 

“Thanks,” Lewis says, kissing Crane gently on the side of his muzzle. “And I do eat eggs. But this looks good too.” His throat still hurts from yesterday, and he can hear his voice cracking a little, but he still feels about a thousand times better than he has in the past few days. It’s not a struggle to get out of the bed, and even though he stumbles a little on the way to the table, he doesn’t really need Crane’s support.

 

As he sits he notices that the apartment looks different – less sparse, a little more furnished. “When did we get a plant?” He asks.

 

Crane looks over at the hanging ivy he mounted to the wall and laughs. "A couple days ago," he says. "I've been popping in and out while you've been sleeping and getting things to make this space a little more homey. I didn't ever really bother furnishing this place because I never spent much time here. But now I figured I'm not the only one living here so I should make a little bit nicer to be in. I bought you a lamp, too. You should decide where we put it."

 

Lewis raises his hands and gazes at the ceiling in a mocking attitude of prayer. “Thank you, Crane. Finally I can stop tripping over every single crack in the floor.” He says. “I’ll just carry it around with me, probably. Hope you got an extension cord.“

 

"You hush," Crane lightly whips Lewis in the backside with his tail as he passes him to sit across from him at the table. His brow furrows as he sits, drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged. "Why are you still calling me by my- " he starts, and then it dawns on him and he hangs his head in his hand with a sigh. "Oh my god. I never told you my first name."

 

Lewis cracks up immediately, burying his face in his hands as he laughs as loudly as his throat will allow. He can’t help it – Crane looks so taken aback and comical. He glances up at Crane and doubles over again, laughing so hard he starts coughing once more.

 

“Amazing,” He gasps, making a concerted effort to stop before he hurts himself. “Just fucking amazing how good we are at this.”

 

"Okay, so we're going a _little_ out of order. But in my defense, I don't really like my first name. It's… well, my parents are eccentric and we've all got stupid names. I'd give my left paw for a name that's normal like Lewis," Crane shakes his head with a laugh.

 

“What’s weird about William?” Lewis says without thinking, and has to immediately resist the urge to clap both hands over his mouth. Fuck. Now he’s done it.

 

Crane lifts his head out of his hand and looks at Lewis with a puzzled expression. "William?" he repeats dubiously. "Who on earth said- where praytell did you get the idea that my name is _William?_ " he wracks his brain for any indication of where Lewis might have connected this name to him, but he hasn't even met anyone else in the time they've been together, they've hardly separated. And certainly nobody has called him William in the times they've been out together.

 

Lewis wracks his brains for a way to explain without revealing that he’s read Crane’s letters. Nothing occurs to him. Not like he could have explained if Crane really was named William, but… he hangs his head.

 

“You had… okay, I’m really fucking sorry and I’m an asshole and I wouldn’t blame you for being pissed because I’d be pissed too, but the first time you went on a job I dug through all your shit and found a bunch of letters. I don’t know what else Billy would stand for? But I swear to god I haven’t done it since.” His voice is cracking all over the place and it’s only partly because of how much his throat hurts. Most of it is panic and guilt, and hoping desperately that there will be some point in the future where he isn’t constantly fucking up in front of Crane.

 

Crane draws his chin in with a little frown. "Oh. Well… I guess that's not such a big deal, it's not like there's anything secret in those letters. They weren't hidden. It's just letters between me and my brother. The only reason it's any kind of secret is my parents can't know he's contacting me or… well, I doubt you're going to rat him out anyway. Especially since you don't even know them," he shakes his head with a laugh, leaning forward on his elbows. "I wish Billy was short for William, I'd prefer it. My name is Hannibal."

 

At some point Lewis will figure out what Crane’s boundaries are exactly, but it’s clearly not going to be for a while.

 

“Hannibal,” He repeats, a little lost between the relief of not having upset Crane and the fact that he can’t seem to stop thinking of him as Crane. Hannibal sounds… odd. He could get used to it, he supposes. “What do you want me to call you?” He asks, looking up finally.

 

"I guess if you wanted to call me that you could," Crane shrugs noncommittally. "It's not a terribly fun name to say. My brother calls me Billy, so you could if you wanted. My sister used to call me "Baldy" and Titanium calls me _Nibble_ but I think I'd prefer if you didn't use that one," he laughs. "But if you wanted to keep calling me Crane, that'd be just fine."

 

“If you don’t mind,” Lewis shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I kind of got used to it. But it’s still nice to know your first name. Even if it’s a couple weeks late.”

 

Embarrassed, he looks back down at the bowl of rice pudding in front of him. “This looks good.” He says awkwardly, picking up his spoon.

 

"Most people call me Crane, I'm used to it," he chuckles, sipping at the glass of water he'd set out for himself. He lets one paw down and reaches underneath the table to brush it against Lewis' ankle, the velvety pads of his paws tickling the top of his foot. "I hope you like it I slaved over a bowl for a whole twenty minutes to prepare that."

 

“And twice as long on the toast, right?” Lewis says with his mouth full. It is good – it’s sweet, warm on his sore throat, and after not eating solid food for a few days even the simple rice is flavorful and delicious. He notices Crane doesn’t have a plate in front of him, and stops playing footsie for a second to ask him about it.

 

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

 

Crane shrugs one shoulder. "Not really hungry enough to eat. I might have something later. I don't know. I've gotten into the bad habit of not eating until my stomach is gnawing." he sips his water again and looks out the window at the grey morning sky.

 

“That sucks. You can afford to eat, you should do it.” Lewis leans forward, taking a bite of toast. “Especially when there’s so much good food here.” He swallows and resumes idly rubbing his foot against Crane’s under the table, enjoying the way Crane’s toe beans curl when he touches them.

 

Crane curls his knuckles against his mouth with a lazy smile. "It's been a long standing habit now. It's a hard one to break." His smile slips a little and he looks down at his glass of water. "My parents were very fond of witholding dinner when we misbehaved, and I wasn't what you'd call obedient. Plus my sister was very good at framing me for all of her mistakes, and my parents believed it because I was already a monster to begin with. And I often took the blame for the few times my brother did something bad because I didn't want to see him go hungry. Missing dinner two or three nights a week was pretty common for me."

 

He slides his glass from one hand to the other with a sigh, before lifting it to sip again. "And then when I left the planet I was pretty much dirt poor for a few years, begging or stealing food more often than buying it, so I was hungry often then as well. By the time I was making my own money, I was so afraid to lose it that I rarely spent it on food, in case I would need it later. And then there was a period where I was really depressed and I didn't have an appetite, and when I started to get more financially stable, I was so many years deep into the habit of not eating that it just… stuck."

 

Lewis nods, swallowing the last of his rice pudding. He remembers hearing something similar from Sara – how she went long enough without being able to afford to eat that she never had an appetite anymore. He isn’t surprised to hear it from Crane, now that he thinks about it. He’s never seen him eat an actual meal, more like nibbling around the edges of one. And his fridge is almost always nearly empty, unless Lewis gets on his case to buy groceries.

 

“You should still eat more,” He says, skirting around the topic of Crane’s family. “I can practically see your bones.”

 

"Excuse you," Crane sits up straight, his smile back as he arches his back and flexes. "I've worked hard for this muscle mass, I'll have you know." he drops his goofy pose with a little laugh. "But… I suppose I could try to eat more normally. It'll help if you remind me. Nobody's ever cared enough to bring it up before. How's this, once you're feeling back up to par, I'll take us out to dinner to celebrate your good health, and I'll eat a whole meal."

 

Again, Lewis files away the remark ‘nobody’s ever cared enough before’ in the back of his mind. He’s done enough crying in front of Crane for the time being. Instead he nods, smiling. “It’s a date.”

 

He’s still a little unsteady on his feet, so after breakfast he lets Crane get the dishes, promising to help next time. Crane tells him not to be ridiculous and points to the beanbag chairs. Lewis feels a little bit useless, but he’s also still tired and feeling a little bit queasy, his stomach unused to having anything solid in it, so he doesn’t protest too much when Crane orders him to sit still.

 

With breakfast cleared away (Crane even ate a piece of toast to please Lewis) he pads over to the younger man and kneels in front of him, rubbing his hands up and down Lewis' thighs. "You look a little pale," he kneels up to bump his nose against his lover's forehead to check his temperature again. "Your fever isn't back… how do you feel? Do you want to go out and try to get some fresh air? Or just go back to bed? Think you could stand for a shower? I could wash your hair again if you'd like."

 

Lewis can’t help laughing at the flood of questions. “I’m fine. Just… not used to food yet. But I feel okay.” It’s not entirely true – he’s slowly getting nauseous, and it’s not like he’d run a marathon at the moment – but compared to yesterday he’s the peak of health. And he’d rather not worry Crane any more than necessary. He strokes the back of Crane’s head, gently touching their foreheads together.

 

“You’re really sweet,” He murmurs, smiling sheepishly at how inane he sounds. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

"I'm not sweet, I'm a bitter wizened old man," Crane grins, the rolls of his purr blooming in his chest. He rubs his cheek against Lewis' neck to brush his scent back over his skin before standing up and padding over to his closet. "I'm gonna duck out for a while, there's a couple other home amenities I want to buy and I got a buzz from Titanium about something he wants me to transport from Little Olympus to him. I should be back by dinner time at the absolute latest. Take a hot shower, take a nap, just take it easy. I'll be back as soon as I can."

 

He bumps his nose against the corner of Lewis' mouth once he's dressed, and then he's out the door in a flash with his bag thumping against his back. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things to note in this chapter 
> 
> 1) the sex kind of seems to come out of nowhere, that's because of editing, part of the scene was taken out for... tact's sake  
> 2) I totally borrowed the whole knotting things from dogs, I don't give a shit. He's an alien, fight me   
> 3) All depictions of dominance and submission in this chapter are totally willing and consented to

Lewis dozes for a while, still trying his best to sleep off the remnants of his illness. He takes Crane’s advice and showers, smiling as he does so, because Crane is going to have to rub his scent on him yet again. He likes making things difficult for Crane in tiny, unimportant ways.

 

By mid-afternoon his nausea has faded enough that he feels safe making himself an egg sandwich for lunch. He’s a little surprised to find eggs in Crane’s fridge at all, but not surprised in the slightest that it’s the only thing he can make for himself. It’s obvious Crane is trying, but most of the time it just doesn’t occur to him to bring home any groceries that aren’t seafood or meat. Lewis makes a mental note to get on him about it – it’s not like he’s going hungry, but he’d like a few more options. He’d go out and get groceries himself, but he’s still not a hundred percent sure on his strength right now, and he’d rather avoid collapsing in public if possible.

 

It’s almost dark by the time the front door opens again, and Crane enters laden with paper and plastic shopping bags. Lewis has been flipping irritably through the channels on Crane’s tiny television and he switches it off with a sigh of relief, getting up quickly and taking some of the bags from the other man.

 

Crane thanks him and bumps his nose against the taller man's chin as he brings everything into the kitchen area. He quickly puts away all the groceries - Lewis spies a few bags of fresh lettuce and packages of vegetables - and then sets to digging through all the bags until he finds what he's looking for. It's a small device, sleek chrome, and Crane pops out one edge to double the length of it and exposes a thin glass screen.

 

"This is a comm," he explains, tapping the screen with his fingertip so it blinks to life and shows a few symbols. "I got the most basic one because I figured there aren't going be a whole lot of other people you'll be calling. I programmed my number into it already, it's speed dial 1."

 

As he explains, he scrolls through the touch screen and shows him how to work the device before passing it off to him. "Now you can contact me whenever you need to. And if I'm gone for a few days at a time I can check in with you."

 

“Cool.” Lewis says, studying it carefully. “It’s like a smartphone back on earth, kind of.” He turns it over in his hands, flicking it open and fiddling with the screen. “But I mean, it’s still a phone, right? There’s no, I dunno, fancy hologram shit? Or is that something I can turn off?” He becomes aware of how ungrateful he sounds, and blushes bright red. “I mean, thank you, though.” He adds hastily, shutting the comm again.

 

Crane laughs. "There is a video option where we can chat face to face through the screen. But no, this model doesn't come with any 'fancy hologram shit.' I figured you'd appreciate a good old-fashioned touch screen."

 

He grabs Lewis by the waistband of his pants and drags him forward so they're chest to chest, and arches up on his tip toes to rub against Lewis' neck and jaw. He smells entirely too clean - while he might not mind the scent of soap, he'd much rather be able to smell his own musk on his lover.

 

Lewis laughs, wrapping his arms around Crane and bending down slightly to give him better access to his neck. “You must’ve missed me.” He says, grinning, taking the opportunity to grab at Crane’s ass and pull him in closer. “Didn’t know I was so hard to stay away from.” He kisses Crane on the corner of his mouth, shoving the comm into his back pocket with his free hand before returning it to Crane’s waist.

 

"Of course I missed you, slugger," Crane purrs against Lewis' neck, giving him a little nip followed by a stroke of his tongue before he switches to the other side. He still has a firm hold on the front of Lewis' pants as he rubs his scent into the opposite side of his throat. "The whole time I was out I was thinking about how nice it is to have someone to come home to. And then I come home to find you scrubbed me off you, what an inconsiderate lover."

 

“I know, right?” Lewis teases, raising one hand to scratch Crane behind the ears. “After you told me to and everything. What an asshole.” He arches his neck and grins even wider, relishing the way Crane’s soft fuzzy skin feels on his. He’s perfectly happy to let Crane nuzzle at his jaw for another minute, inclining his head this way and that. Finally he draws Crane’s face up between his hands and kisses him on the lips, whiskers brushing his cheeks.

 

"Little shit," Crane grins against Lewis' lips and whips the backs of his knees with his tail. When Lewis staggers with a distressed honking sound, Crane slips away back to his bags. He pulls a second lamp out and sets it on the counter, and unrolls a rug in front of the bed, sets an extra set of towels in his closet along with several bottles of shampoo for Lewis.

 

He dumps a few more clothes for Lewis into his separate dresser and tucks a vibrator he purchased into the opening of the bed beside a bottle of lube, another of which he puts in a kitchen drawer, and the third in the bathroom.

 

"How are you feeling by the way?" he asks the younger man when the final bag is emptied and he sets his own covered dinner on the table. He paces over to the fridge to prepare something mild for the still-sick youth.

 

“A lot better.” Lewis says, already reaching for the freezer door. “Enough that I can make my own dinner, at least.” He stares down at Crane, parodying severity, and has to laugh when Crane steps away from the refrigerator doors.

 

“You bought yourself dinner?” He asks, surveying the vegetables Crane’s brought back. He’s pleased to see a decent variety – bell peppers, lettuce, squash, and carrots, which is much more than he’d expected at least.

 

"I did," Crane sits across the table from the younger man while he pulls some things out of the fridge to prepare himself dinner. He pushes the covered dish aside for the time being, content to wait for his lover to sit down before eating. He watches the man put together greens to fry with a thoughtful expression. "So… the nib- er, vegetarian thing. Was that a personal choice? A taste thing? Or is it ah," he spirals both his fingers on either side of his head to gesture for Lewis's spiraled horns. "Sheep thing."

 

Lewis laughs, fishing around in Crane’s cabinets for a frying pan. He finds a large one and throws a big helping of chopped bell peppers, zucchini, carrots, and potatoes into it. “It’s not a ‘sheep thing’, it’s just that I don’t like eating meat. It feels weird to me. I’m not gonna be an asshole about it but it doesn’t feel good to me to eat something that was alive.” He says, gazing around the kitchen distractedly. “Hey, do you have any olive oil? Or any kind of oil. Doesn’t matter much.”

 

"I've got peanut oil," Crane gestures to the cabinet on the end. "Olive oil doesn't agree with me. You should make a shopping list though, any time you think of something you want just write it down on the pad on the fridge. I'm not the only one I should be shopping for anymore."

 

“You’re clearly hearing me when I just tell you stuff, though.” Lewis says, reaching up for the peanut oil. He pours it generously over his vegetables before setting the saucepan down on the stove, listening to it sizzle.

 

“You got me vegetables anyway, and I know for sure you don’t give a shit about rabbit food or whatever you call it,” He continues, poking at his food with a fork. He turns to study the new spice rack, eventually deciding on garlic powder, oregano, and basil, with a tiny dash of white pepper. He turns back to Crane, adjusting the heat on the stovetop. “Anyway, it doesn’t really bug me that other people eat meat, but I just don’t want to. It feels weird.”

 

"Of course I'm listening," Crane props his chin on his fist. "I won't subject you to meat if you can't stomach it. I'm sure we'll wind up on common ground somewhere. Are there a lot of human vegetarians? I mean, is it a common thing?"

 

“I dunno,” Lewis says, concentrating more on his food than anything else. He stirs the vegetables with his fork, glancing up at Crane across the counter. “It’s probably like, 20% of people on earth that are vegetarians? I have no idea, to be honest. It’s not that common but it’s not rare either. For most people it’s just a choice, though. There’s some people like me that feel bad killing something to eat it, and there’s some people who don’t want to support factory farms, and then there’s other people who just don’t like meat that much… it’s pretty varied. And there’s people who are real serious about it, like they hate anyone who eats meat, which I really can’t get behind, but then there’s also people who just see it as a personal thing.”

 

He looks down at his vegetables again, turning them over, waiting for them to get to the right consistency.“Honestly I stopped eating meat when I found out people ate mutton.” He says, and laughs. “It sounds so dramatic, right? But it freaked me out pretty bad when I was a kid.”

 

"I don't think it sounds dramatic," Crane shakes his head. "What sounds dramatic is people hating other people for eating meat, what's that about?"

 

“As far as I understand it, it’s because they think it’s cruel to animals.” Lewis explains, throwing a little bit of salt into his skillet. “I mean… okay, so there’s two kinds of people who don’t eat meat, and that’s vegetarians and vegan. So basically, and I’m really over-simplifying here, vegetarians are people like me who don’t eat meat, but we do still eat eggs and milk and, I guess, animal byproducts, if that makes sense. But then there’s other people, vegans, who don’t eat anything that’s produced by an animal. And that goes as far as not eating honey because bees make it, or not eating bread with yeast in it. I guess the logic is they don’t want to subjugate animals in any way? Except to me, that seems stupid, because bees are gonna make honey and cows are gonna make milk no matter what.” He pulls his skillet off of the burner, aware that he’s rambling. Oh well. Crane did ask.

 

“And I mean, it doesn’t really matter much, people can eat whatever the hell they want, but I’ve known a lot of people who are real assholes about it, and it seems petty as fuck to me when a lot of people can’t get a decent meal in the first place, you know?”

 

Crane nods silently, listening intently. When Lewis finishes, he shakes his head with a chuckle. "Humans are so interesting. I've been around them all my life and they still find a way to surprise me every day. I guess I'll stop making fun of you for being a nibbler then if there are so many of you. It's a lot rarer in feraline culture."

 

Lewis shrugs, scraping his vegetables onto a plate. “It makes sense, though. Cats don’t eat vegetables, really – I mean sometimes, but it’s not exactly a common thing, right? But humans are omnivores, so we can kind of pick and choose what we eat if we want to.”

 

He sits down across from Crane, leaning forward across the table, waving his fork absentmindedly as he continues. “But then if a human stops eating meat, their body stops being able to process it as well, and we end up getting sick. So that’s why I won’t even try meat these days.”

 

"That's why you got so sick when you ate the fish," Crane says thoughtfully. "Alright, I guess I'll forgive you for being a nibbler."

 

"Nibbler," Lewis huffs a laugh and spears a pepper. "Stupid word. Do you guys have a word for vegans?"

 

"Yeah, we do," Crane sneers. "Dead."

 

Lewis doubles over laughing, almost dropping his fork. “Fair enough,” He says eventually, when he’s able to talk without cracking up. “But yeah, that’s the brief history of ‘nibblers’ in human culture.” He takes a large bite of his vegetables, smiling slightly. “Hope that makes you a little less confused about my eating habits.”

 

"I like learning about you," Crane casts his eyes down to the table and looks over at his food briefly, but he's not really hungry enough for it yet. He assumes as long as he eats it by the end of the night he can avoid a scolding. Instead he folds his arms on the table and leans on them, tickling Lewis' ankle with his toes again.

 

Suddenly struck with a wicked idea, he smirks and trails his paw up the man's leg, and between his thighs. Lewis gasps and drops the bite of food that had just been in his mouth back onto his plate when a shiver of pleasure runs through him. He bites his lip and closes his eyes, rocking against the paw between his legs for a few seconds, really getting into the rhythm of it- and then Crane suddenly pulls his foot away.

 

“You rat fuck,” Lewis mumbles, opening his eyes. “Aren’t you gonna finish what you started?”

 

A predatory smile crosses Crane's face and he stands from the table, pacing leisurely over to the hunched young man. Lewis has turned to lean back in his seat, but as soon as Crane is in front of him he takes a handful of Lewis' curls and pulls him up to a stand. Lewis moves without hesitation as Crane manipulates him him with a paw looped around his ankle to spin around. With a few quick steps, he bends the young man over the counter, and he pins him in place with one hand hard in his hair, the other on the counter beside him, and his tail wrapped firmly around his ankle.

 

Tugging sharp until Lewis bleats involuntarily, he arches his lover's back so he can hiss directly into his ear, nipping the velvet skin with his front teeth. "Oh, I'll finish you alright," he grinds with purpose against Lewis' backside, his cock slipping out of its sheath to really make his point.

 

“Shit- “ Lewis gasps, trying not to grin as Crane yanks his hair back. He groans and lurches forward again, straining against Crane’s grasp on his hair, retching, his hands braced on the counter in front of him. He can feel Crane’s cock against him, incredibly arousing, making him arch backwards, so that his ass can press closer against Crane’s body.

 

“S-so finish me,” He taunts. 

 

When Lewis scrabbles for purchase on the counter and pushes back, Crane swipes his hands out from under him and doubles him back over with a snarled " _Stay_ down."

 

It’s yet another completely unexpected move but Lewis isn’t going to complain. He obeys, laying his cheek against the cool counter and fogging its surface with his panting.  
"That's a good boy," Crane groans, grinding his hips in firm, steady circles against Lewis' ass. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he asks in a low voice. Exhausted and aroused past the point of comprehension, Lewis can only whimper and nod stiffly in Crane's hold on his hair. However, in answer to his silent plea all he gets is another firm pull on his curls and a tightly growled, "I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't _hear_ you."

 

“Yeah,” Lewis mutters, and then catches himself. “I mean, yes… yes sir.” he gasps, head suspended by Crane’s hands tangled firmly in his blonde curls. It hurts but it feels good too, and the low pressure against the base of his cock isn’t exactly unwelcome.

 

Crane feels his cock pulse hard at the feeble utterance of his authority. He gives another growl of pleasure and pulls at Lewis' waistband until his pajama pants fall down around his ankles. "Suck," he commands, pressing fingers into the younger man's hot mouth. He takes care to keep his claws inside his fingers as he swirls them around Lewis' tongue, the young man's heated panting breath ghosting over his knuckles.

 

"Pay attention," he hisses as he slips his fingers out of Lewis' mouth and tugs his hair again to send a shockwave through his system to get him to focus on his words. "There's a part of my anatomy you haven't encountered yet."

 

As he speaks, he presses his two slim fingers inside Lewis. He gives the young man a moment to gasp and pant and adjust, before pulling his hair again to recapture his attention. "It's called my knot," he continues, pumping and scissoring his fingers as he speaks. "When I get close to orgasm, it starts to swell. Up until now I've just left it in my sheath because there's no point to letting it out. But that won't be an option when I start fucking you, it becomes involuntary at that point. You have to decide right now if you want me to knot you when I come, or leave it pulled out, because once it's in, it's in- we'll be locked together for fifteen or twenty minutes."

 

Lewis shifts against Crane’s fingers, groaning in pleasure. He’s not exactly in prime shape for an anatomy lesson, but he gets the gist of it.

 

“Okay,” He pants, “Go for it.” Crane yanks at his hair again, and he remembers to be polite. It’s not easy – there’s a world of sensation going on below his waist. All he wants is Crane inside him, for as long as possible. “Knot in my ass, sir,” He says with a wry grin, barely resisting the urge to salute.

 

With permission given, Crane puts all of his attention into fingering the daylights out of Lewis. He twists them and spreads them, pumps them deep and toys with the young man's prostate, tapping hard against it and massaging deep circles.

 

For just a moment he releases Lewis' hair so he can open the front of his trousers, and instantly his cock slides all the way out of its sheath like a rocket, straight up and hard in the air. He hisses a breath in through his teeth when the cool air makes contact with the slick shaft, and he grinds it against one of Lewis' ass cheeks as he reclaims his hair, leaving behind a wet smear.

 

"How accustomed are you to taking big cocks?" Crane asks as he presses a third finger inside Lewis after collecting the fluid he left behind on his cheek.

 

Lewis writhes against the counter, moaning loudly when he feels Crane slip another finger into him. There’s a warm wet something caressing his ass too, and he doesn’t bother trying to figure out what it is, just succumbs to the pleasure it brings him. He has to take a moment to even consider what Crane’s said.

 

Finally he processes Crane’s words, although now he has to take another moment to organize his thoughts enough to respond. “Who’s… who’s cock are we talking about here…” He gasps, still unable to resist poking fun even while he’s gagging and pressed against the counter. “You’re hot but… don’t you think big is pushing it?”

 

Lewis barely manages to get the last sentence out before he moans violently while Crane’s fingers rake at his prostate. He can hardly stand - every nerve in his body is singing pleasure.

 

Lewis is wrenched aggressively upright by his hair. "What was that you said?" he growls into the younger man's ear. "Not big, am I? I have news for you, slugger."

 

He slips his fingers out of Lewis' hole and pulls him off the counter entirely, yanking him around by his hair with a barked order for him to get on his knees, and he shoves him down by the top of his head until his cock is lined up in front of Lewis' face, hard and long and shockingly red. His fold is open, and there's an undeniable additional length - three inches at least.

 

"The thing about me is my cock is retractable, and I get to choose how much of it you see," he growls, grinding his wet prick against Lewis' cheek. "I suggest you start apologizing, tongue-first."

 

Lewis has to stop himself from doing a double take. He hasn’t expected this by any means – Crane’s cock is far longer than anything he’s ever seen, and he can barely believe this is the same person he’s been having sex with for almost a month.

 

“You’re kidding,” He mutters, and is immediately shaken hard, forced towards Crane’s cock by the other man’s strong grip on his hair.

 

Lewis opens his mouth automatically, and Crane’s penis fills his throat, making him choke and gag. He groans quietly, reaching out to grasp at Crane’s unzipped jeans, his tongue sliding across the open underside of Crane’s cock.

 

Crane gasps and jerks his hips forward as the ribs of his cock are massaged by Lewis' tongue. He eyes Lewis' horns and makes a mental note to ask him later if he can grab the young man by them, preferring not to break the scene in the moment for now. He drops his head back with a low groan, his chest an explosion of deep rumbling purrs that Lewis can feel all the way down on his tongue.

 

He rocks his hips into Lewis' throat, pressing steadily deeper with every persistent roll. Listening to Lewis gag and choke is heavenly, but he doesn't want to hurt the man, scene be damned. "If you need me to stop, pull my tail," he hisses to Lewis, and as soon as the young man looks up and meets his eyes to let him know he heard, he lets loose.

 

Pounding Lewis' mouth with abandon, he huffs and groans with every sharp pass down that tight passage. He tangles his free hand into Lewis' hair right beside the first and holds him firmly in place as he fucks down his throat. Pleasure builds in his belly- he's luckily not too close to release, he can just relish in this for now.

 

As Crane shoves his cock down his throat, Lewis is pressed against the kitchen cabinets at his back, trying to keep himself from genuinely choking. It’s nicer than usual, he has to admit – Crane’s penis comes pre-lubricated, which makes it so much easier to take, even though it’s unexpectedly overlarge – he tastes like a vagina, slightly sour and musty but still delicious. The joke of a cat tasting like pussy makes Lewis choke unexpectedly and he gropes for Crane’s tail, gagging against the pressure of his penis, not wanting to make a mess on the floor.

 

Crane's eyes snap open. He hadn't expected Lewis to need to pull the plug so quickly - he must have been harder on the young man than he thought. He instantly pulls out of Lewis' mouth and releases his hair, taking a step back to give the man space.

 

Panting, Lewis bows over counter, one hand bracing himself while the other palms at his own cock. He coughs and then moans again at Crane’s firm grasp on his hair. He turns slightly, glancing back at Crane for a second. “C-come on,” He gasps, shuddering. “You said you’d f-fuck me."

 

Crane curses under his breath and steps up behind the cowed young man. He grabs him by the back of the neck this time, holding him down and guiding his pointed cock against Lewis' prepped hole. The tapered slope of it slides easily inside the young man, and his jaw drops open with a long, quiet sigh. He tips his head back again with a low groan, pushing in, in, in, until his hips make contact with Lewis' ass.

 

Part of him was worried the young man wouldn't even be able to take it, but he looks down and he sees every inch of him buried in to the hilt. "God," he hisses through clenched teeth, grinding his hips in slow circles to send Lewis twitching and gasping under him. He grips his hip tight with his free hand, pinning him to the counter as he sets into a quick, shallow pace.

 

As soon as he feels Crane slide into him Lewis gasps with arousal, arching his back and bucking against the other man’s strong hands.“Oh, fuck-“ he moans, swallowing hard and pushing back against Crane’s hips. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the rhythm of Crane’s thrusts. He's overwhelmed by the quick pleasure of Crane fucking him from behind, the way he’s forced down over the counter. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering rush, almost whimpering in pleasure as Crane bears down on him again.

 

Crane is amazed at how well Lewis is opening up for him. This is clearly nowhere near the first dick he's taken. Crane can't help but feel a flutter of jealousy as he thinks of all the other people who have seen Lewis like this. If he has his way, nobody else ever will.

 

His hand moves from Lewis' neck to his hair again so he can pull him upright, and he leans down to wash his tongue over his lover's neck and cheek as his pace picks up. He releases Lewis' hip to grip the counter and spreads his paws wider, bracing himself as he fucks into Lewis.

 

Lewis can’t help himself – he’s always loved being fucked in the ass and Crane is pounding him. He’s never thought of himself as a size queen but he has to admit, there’s a marked difference. Or maybe Crane’s just really, really good.

 

He lets out a low cry as Crane pins him against the counter. All he can concentrate on are the waves of pleasure radiating through his body. He has to concentrate specifically hard to not come just yet – he wants this to last as long as possible.

 

Crane leans almost all of his weight on Lewis, his pace picking up to a brutal cadence, fucking all the breath and sense out of his younger lover. His own breath is coming out in sharp pants, his teeth grazing Lewis' neck as his pleasure builds and climbs with every rough surge into the young man's body. Emotion swells in his chest - disbelief, wonder, adoration, a complicated and dizzying medley of feelings that he pours directly into Lewis cock-first.

 

Hands fly to his shoulders and he locks Lewis in place as his pleasure mounts and then uncoils, bursting out of him like a flow of lava, rushing hot and thick inside Lewis. It occurs to him too late that he could have put a condom on, but there's no helping it now. His knot swells and his voice shakes through a jagged caterwaul and every following thrust into Lewis is shallower and shallower as he's locked into place inside him.

 

When Crane speeds up his thrusts Lewis groans, reaching down for his own cock, unable to resist anymore. It ends up not really mattering – Crane’s yowl of pleasure and the sudden rush of semen inside him are gratifying in the extreme. At the same time he feels Crane coming, there’s a sudden increase in girth, which must be “knotting”. Lewis yelps and lets go of his dick immediately, not wanting to make a mess on the floor – it hurts a little, but it feels good too, in the same way as how he’s having his hair yanked back.

 

He feels Crane slowing down behind him, thrusting less intensely. Lewis moans softly. Crane may be done but he’s still desperately aroused, the sense of his lover filling him up almost too much to bear. He bites his tongue on a taunting remark, knowing Crane will be more than willing to finish him off.

 

The cat immediately releases Lewis' hair and bends over him, licking over the places he left pink marks with his teeth on his lover's neck and shoulder, grinding his hips in firm circles that has his knot massaging relentlessly against the younger man's prostate. His chest is a flurry of purring, and he wraps his hand around Lewis' prick, pumping leisurely.

 

When Crane’s fingers encircle his cock Lewis goes weak, his eyelids fluttering. He can feel Crane purring against his back, his breath warm on his neck.“Y-you - oh fuck, oh my god-“ He babbles, bucking his hips as Crane’s cock presses deliciously into him. He slips against the counter and groans, Crane strokes faster, and then he’s lost in a wave of pleasure as he comes harder than he ever has before.

 

Listening to Lewis cry out and fill the room with his voice has Crane grinning. His hips move with Lewis', locked together as the young man thrusts shallowly into the cat's hand through his orgasm. Crane smoothes his free hand down Lewis' back, petting his trembling sides as he jerks and whines through his climax.

 

When finally all of Lewis' muscles unclench, leaving him tired and sagging, Crane carefully collects him up to his feet and they stumble the few feet over to the bed, falling into the opening together. Crane curls up around Lewis, still locked deep into him, and starts to lick sweat off his shoulders and back, still purring like a motor.

 

“That was… a lot more intense… than I expected.” Lewis mumbles, when he can breathe again. He lets out a shuddery laugh, still trembling from his . He kind of wishes Crane would unknot so he could turn around and kiss him, but the other man’s cock is still sending aftershocks of pleasure through his body every time they move, so he can’t complain much. He settles for reaching back and stroking his lover’s spine, fingers trailing awkwardly down to the base of his cold metal tail. With his other hand he massages his aching scalp.

 

“Remind me not to talk shit about your size again.”

 

Crane chuckles and nuzzles his nose and cheek against Lewis' shoulder and neck, massaging his scent into his skin. "I hope I wasn't too rough on you," he hums, closing his eyes, content to just lie there and purr. His cock is still pulsing, and he groans quietly every time either of them shifts, tugging pressure on his oversensitive organ. He reaches up with one hand and runs his fingers softly and slowly through Lewis' hair, combing the curls back and rubbing at the places he tugged.

 

“I can take it.” Lewis grins, turning his head under Crane’s gentle fingers. His throat is aching more than ever, the effort of vomiting and all the noise he made doing him no favors, but other than that he’s never felt better.

 

“Gave you a good show, though, huh? ‘Sir?’” Now the title’s mocking, but he’s not averse at all to repeating the experience. He’s usually more interested in the dominant role himself, but it feels natural to let Crane assume command. Not without a fair amount of heckling, of course – he’d never make it easy on him –but Crane’s quiet authority translates unbelievably well to sex.

 

"Shut up," Crane laughs, bumping his forehead against Lewis' shoulder. His purring intensifies, a warm feeling spreading through him. It feels like their relationship has evened out, and they're closer to common ground now that he's opened the gates to the possibility of switching. By the time he's deflated enough to pull out, their dinner is cold, but neither of them are very hungry anyway, and they just curl up to sleep. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn two chapters in a row, wow, these guys don't slow down for anything

Three days tick by before Lewis can declare himself totally well. One and a half of those is spent with Crane away on an assignment (which wasn't so bad with the comm to talk at night) and he comes back with a bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulder, but brings a hefty payday home with him, celebrating the fact that his fang has started to come back in.

 

Lewis was quick to remind him about his promise to take his lover out to dinner to celebrate his good health, and Crane can only laugh. He certainly has the money for it right now, he can even fly his cruiser there and back.

 

He treats Lewis to his favorite Japanese restaurant where he places an order for himself for endless sushi on a tab of 200 credits, promising to take home whatever he doesn't eat in the restaurant so they get the full two hundred, while Lewis takes a look through their vegetarian options.

 

It’s weirdly exciting to go out on an actual date with Crane. Their trip through Little Olympus was date-like, Lewis supposes, but since they weren’t together at the time he’s not sure if it should count. Regardless, this is nice – they get to go out for dinner together like a couple, and no one’s chasing them and no one’s apologizing or crying. Also, Lewis gets to stop worrying about Crane’s appetite.

 

After they order (Lewis is pleased to see there’s an extensive menu of vegetarian rolls, including a few with shitake mushrooms, which he loves), there’s a comfortable lull in the conversation. Lewis nudges Crane’s knee under the table with his own.

 

“So while you were out I did some job hunting,” he says, reaching for the small bowl of edamame in the center of the table. “I applied at some restaurants and bars. So hopefully I can start helping out with the groceries and stuff soon.”

 

Crane opens his mouth and Lewis cuts him off, leaning forward and taking his hand. “I know, I don’t need to, you can take care of it, blah blah, but I want to. It’s what couples do, right?”

 

The cat feels his face flush and he covers his eyes with his free hand, pursing his lips to try and keep from grinning. He mutters something unintelligible and nudges Lewis' knee back, his other hand still trapped under his lover's. It's crazy to hear him talk out loud about being a couple, it makes his ears feel hot. They're probably bright red by now.

 

He sets aside his joy for a moment, clearing his throat and trying to force a serious expression. "As long as you promise to be safe," he tells the younger man. "Just about everyone around here is under Titanium's subjugation, nobody will refuse you if you say you're hiding from him and you need to duck into the back whenever one of his people comes in the door."

 

Lewis’s complete delight at flustering his lover (and the way Crane’s thin ears go red when he blushes) vanishes as soon as Crane mentions Titanium. He tries to keep his face blank. He hasn’t forgotten – how can he when Crane’s going out on jobs for the man constantly – but the reminder that he’s still out there, on top of the world, doesn’t exactly feel amazing.

 

“Hopefully that won’t be a problem,” He says, keeping his voice light. “But I’ll be safe.” Even though he doesn’t want it to be, it is a real promise. He doesn’t want to risk Crane getting hurt because of him again. He still has nightmares about the way Crane looked the first night he came home. “Anyway, at least I won’t be working directly under the guy. You’re the one with most of the risk.”

 

"He doesn't suspect anything," Crane promises the young man, taking his other hand and holding them both across the table. "He didn't… like it when he thought I bought a gun. But he got over it quickly. If only it was as easy as cutting and dying your hair to disguise you… I wonder if we could find a slouch cap big enough to hide your horns…"

 

He trails off when dinner arrives, a big plate of salmon and rice sushi for Crane. Lewis has only taken a few bites of his own roll, still preoccupied. “I thought you said he didn’t care that much that I got out, though. Titanium, I mean.” He says, returning to the earlier subject.

 

"He doesn't 'care' no," Crane says. "As in, he won't actively go looking for you. But if he happens to find you, he's not going to just let you walk away. He's got too much pride for something like that. Most likely he'd just have you killed on the spot, and I think we'd both like to avoid that happening."

 

“Oh. Yeah. That wouldn’t be great.” Lewis swallows quickly to distract himself from the frustration and anger that floods through him once again. He’s not going to do this tonight. This is a date. He’s not going to scare or worry Crane. It’s going to be nice.

 

“I’ll figure it out, anyway – there’s no guarantee I’ll get the job in the first place. But one of the places I applied at is a sushi bar, so it’s good that you like this stuff.” He changes the subject as gracefully as he can, and tries to relax. It’s not as hard as it would have been before. Crane’s still somewhat distracted by his food, and Lewis is eager to get back to safer ground conversationally.

 

They chat idly, Crane tells stories that make Lewis laugh about his shenanigans as a pirate when he was young. They eat their fill, all smiles and laughter, and sit there for almost a full hour before they finally decided they're done nibbling.

 

Crane closes the tab and the remaining sushi are packed into several boxes tied together and set in two bags. Crane almost laments leaving such a large tab because he’s not sure he’ll even be able to eat all of these before they go bad.

 

The cruiser ride back is nice and smooth, and he hefts the bags up the stairs to the elevator and they head up to his floor, and he finally notices the way Lewis is staring at him. “You see something you like?” he teases the younger man as they step out into their apartment and Crane heads over to the kitchen area to put away all the boxes of sushi.

 

“Just you,” Lewis ducks his head awkwardly. “I like going on dates with you."

 

As Crane tucks the sushi boxes into the fridge, Lewis wanders over to the raised area, which he’s beginning to think of as the living room despite the fact that the entire apartment is one room. He flicks on the new lamp and sits down in a beanbag chair, tugging another one over next to his and motioning for Crane to join him.

 

Crane drops into the other bean bag and stretches his arms over his head, arching his back with a pleased groan. He yawns widely and when his body slouches back to normal, he can see Lewis openly staring up at him.

 

“You looking for something?” he teases, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “You haven’t stopped staring at me for a solid hour now."

 

“You’re so full of yourself, old man.” Lewis mutters, knowing he’s not fooling Crane in the slightest. He reaches around behind him to grope the older man's bottom, pulling their laps together more tightly.

 

Crane doesn’t even try not to grin. He shifts in Lewis’ lap, licking his lips thoughtfully as his chest starts to bloom with purring. His ears twitch and he tips his head back with a content sigh as his backside is massaged in Lewis' searching hands.

 

Lewis leans in and kisses the side of Crane’s mouth, and then pushes Crane off of him onto the floor. “Come on,” he smirks, “don’t you want to give me a show?”

 

Crane gasps when his back comes in contact with the floor, and for a moment he just lies there, stunned, with his knees spread wide . And then it sinks into his bones just what Lewis is trying to accomplish - and it’s at once charming and fiercely sexy.

 

He licks his lips and swallows hard as heat ripples down from his chest, winds through his belly and settles in his cock. He clears his throat and pushes up on his elbows on the floor. “I do,” he says, his tail flicking back and forth between his legs. “Where do you want me?”

 

“What the fuck do you mean, where do I want you? Does it look like I care? Ask me if I give a shit,” Lewis rants, still grinning. He’s absurdly pleased at how well Crane is playing along. He kneels down next to Crane, dropping his voice as he leans over his lover’s large, translucent ears.

 

“Sorry,” Crane mutters, a thrill spiking through him. He had no idea the kid had this in him. But it sort of makes sense, and the more he sees it from Lewis, the more he craves. He wants to hear him derail him, he wants him to fill in all the cracks in Crane that have been etched out by sweet words with hard nails. A fire burns in his belly, different and bright and needing. He palms himself between his legs openly, tilting his chin back with a groan. He knows Lewis is watching him, and it only makes him feel hotter. Lewis kneels again, settling himself in between Crane’s legs. He sets his hands on Crane’s thighs, slowly stroking upwards to his crotch.

 

“Good job.” He says quietly, and directs one hand downward again, brushing at the top of Crane’s soft sheath. With his left hand, Lewis caresses up Crane’s stomach to his chest, and tweaks one of his nipples, hard. He’s pleased to hear Crane give a quiet groan of either pleasure or discomfort – it doesn’t matter much right now – and slowly maneuvers him backwards onto the dark hardwood floor, so that he’s leaning up against his lover’s prone figure.

 

“Let your cock out.” He orders, sliding his body down towards the other man’s sheath. As he kneels once again between his legs, no longer lying on top of him, he reaches up to roll his other nipple between two fingers, softer than his treatment of the first one.

 

Crane licks his lips again, lying down flat and pillowing his head on the edge of a beanbag chair as he shoves his waistband down below his package. His prick slowly slips out of its sheath, dripping wet onto his belly as it arches up hard towards the ceiling.

 

Panting, he squirms beneath Lewis, arching his back against his massaging hands. “More,” he gasps, his ears tipping back as he cranes his back.

 

“You’re not the one who’s supposed to be asking for shit right now,” Lewis laughs, slipping off his own jeans and settling himself against Crane’s hips, his own hardened cock sliding against Crane’s. He has to swallow a gasp as their genitals collide – the smell and sensation of Crane’s wet dick rubbing against his is extremely enjoyable.

 

Crane whines in the back of his throat, pumping his hips up in shallow circles to meet Lewis’ lazy strokes. The electrifying sensation shoots down his whole body, leaving him with a high that is quickly fading and he gasps “More.” Purring intensely, he takes every wave of pleasure offered to him by Lewis' benevolent hand. Lewis grinds his hips against Crane’s, loving the way his lover groans beneath him.

 

“Where’s your lube? I know you’ve got some, you’re a dirty old fuck.” He smirks, nudging at Crane’s spread thighs with his knee.

 

“Kitchen drawer,” Crane pants, lying flat on his back and rubbing his own aching, bulging cock with both hands. He moans, arching his hips off the ground as he tries to wiggle out of his pants.

 

Scratching his claws gently up his thighs sends goose bumps threading in patches over his skin under his fuzz. His body is in a constant state of motion, squirming and panting and moaning and needing. He’s suddenly acutely aware of just how badly he needs something inside of him, and flicks his tail around to tease his own pucker with the end of the metal cable.

 

Lewis doesn’t nead any further urging – he springs to his feet and rustles through the kitchen drawers, slightly annoyed that Crane hadn’t mentioned which one. He still finds the lube fairly quickly, thankful for once that Crane’s kitchen is so tiny.

 

“What about condoms,” He calls over his shoulder, and then freezes, arrested by the sight of Crane struggling to get out of his pants. If he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. Even more urgently, he can hear his lover purring and groaning, a completely intoxicating combination. He sucks in his breath and bites his lip, resisting the urge to abandon protection altogether through force of will.

 

“Fuck condoms,” Crane pants, shaking his head. “Even if you had aids or something you can’t transfer it to me. Different biology. Get your butt back over here and fuck me.”

 

Lewis raises his eyebrows but obeys, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing a little into his hand, rubbing it over his cock as he walks back to Crane at a forced leisurely pace.

 

“I’m still telling you what to do, remember?” He says quietly, leaning over Crane’s prone body. He watches his lover straining forwards, his cock erect (if not fully unsheathed yet) and purring. Lewis can’t stop grinning, even while he’s issuing commands.

 

“Turn over and get on your knees. Get your tail out of my way, too.” He waits for Crane to obey before he sinks to his knees behind him, reaching under the metal prosthetic to insert his slick index finger into Crane’s hole, gently – he hasn’t done this before with Crane, he doesn’t know how much he can take, but at the same time he doesn’t want to come off as too hesitant.

 

Crane gasps and immediately cants his hips back, grinding against Lewis’ finger. He holds his tail over his shoulder in one hand to cease its involuntary thrashing, his paws clenching and his mouth open around a silent meow. Pleasure jitters up his spine, leaving him feeling hot and shaky. He rocks back harder, his ears flattening, saliva shiny on his lips.

 

It occurs to him that this is the first time they’ve officially done this. Everything previous was blows and hand jobs and mutual masturbation, grinding and gasping and sharing spit and bodily fluids, but this is the first time he’s had Lewis _inside him_ and it’s so overwhelming he yowls.

 

Prostate struck, he snaps his jaw shut over a plead for more. Lewis is in charge, Lewis will give him exactly what he craves in time, he just has to be patient and bow to the younger man’s whim. His whole body shivers from end to end, lost in the sensations.

 

Lewis can’t help moaning himself as Crane reacts so strongly to just one finger, one slight thrust forward. He feels like his smile is going to split his face in two.

 

“Do you even want me to fuck you?” He asks, shaking his head as Crane writhes beneath him. “I’m honestly not sure if you can take it.” He punctuates the remark by slipping a second finger into his lover.

 

“Oh god,” Crane gasps, turning his forehead against the ground and rocking back harder against the stretch. It shoots spikes up his back and down into his belly. His cock is drooling on the wood floor, his knees are aching, but he needs more.

 

Crooking one elbow on the ground, he pillows his forehead on it and braces his other palm on the floor to give him something to push against as he rocks back and fucks himself on Lewis’ fingers. Part of him wants Lewis to go harder, to meet his need, but another part of him desperately hopes the younger man will reprimand him, berate him, call him names, oh god he needs it.

 

“Fuck-” he gasps, throwing a hand back and putting it on Lewis’ chest when pleasure jackhammers up his spine so fiercely that a single squirt of semen dribbles out of his cock. “Take it easy with the fancy fingerwork or you’re gonna set me off like a firecracker.”

 

“God, you’re easy,” Lewis says, rolling his eyes despite his genuine surprise at Crane’s sensitivity. He figured Crane would be a lot more stoic. He withdraws his fingers quickly, smirking as Crane gasps in his absence. “What, you can’t handle getting fucked properly? You can dish it out but you can’t take it? Come on, old man, I expected a lot better from you.”

 

He grabs his own cock and barely caresses Crane’s hole with the head of it, loving the low groan of pleasure Crane gives him in return, the way Crane is presenting himself with his face pressed against his elbow on the hardwood floor, his cock hanging stiffly under him.

 

“Just calm down, already, you desperate fuck. I’ll finish you off in my own time.”

 

Crane’s cheeks burn hotly with shame. He wants to retaliate, explain that it’s been a very long time since he’s been “fucked properly,” but Lewis doesn’t want to hear that he’s sure. He just wants Crane to be silent and obedient- that he can do.

 

“Sorry,” he gasps, licking his lips as he feels the blunt head of Lewis’ prick slide against him. He moans low and deep and desperate, squeezing his eyes shut against the desperate pitch his body is throwing for him to just move back and skewer himself on that teasing cock. “I’ll be better, I swear.”

 

“Just keep doing what I want and you’ll be fine,” Lewis says, barely flicking at Crane’s balls with the tips of his fingers before continuing to run his right hand down his velvety inner thigh. With his left hand he drops his penis to slide his fingers slowly into Crane again, taking care to keep them pressing back, away from his lover’s apparently incredibly sensitive prostate. He slips in a third finger and rotates his hand carefully, making sure Crane’s wide enough to actually take him.

 

“Hey,” He leans over Crane again, bearing down on him just a little more, bracing himself over the other man’s shoulder so he can speak right next to his ears, which have gone suspiciously red again. “You remember the safeword – the safe gesture, right?” He has to hope Crane doesn’t notice his stumble. “’Cause I’m not going to fuck you otherwise.”

 

Crane nods desperately. A part of the back of his mind stores this moment, he’s sure he’ll reel over it later when he’s in his right mind. The sweetness and gentleness of the reminder has goosebumps spreading back over his skin.

 

He wraps his tail around his own ankle to keep it out of the way, massaging his stomach with one hand as he pants through the intense pleasure washing over him. He can’t even properly remember the last time he was fucked like this, he was probably stoned at the time. It’s been so many years since he felt this probing heat.

 

He’s going to lose his mind when Lewis pushes in. He’s already so far out of his own control, he’s going to embarrass himself, he just knows it. He whines and rocks back on those stretching, pumping fingers, clenching around them and releasing, letting his lover know just how ready he is for him.

 

“Please,” he pants, turning his head to look back over his shoulder. He figures he’ll either be rewarded for his begging, or reprimanded for his sluttiness, both of which will delight him. “Please, please, oh god please.”

 

“Since you asked nicely,” Lewis says, and snatches his fingers back quickly (Crane moaning again, sending a thrill down his spine), reaching back for the small bottle of lube on the floor next to him. He re-applies it to his cock and slowly, carefully thrusts into Crane, making sure he’s doing this right. Slowly, he eases himself in, and then when he hears Crane’s answering yowl of pleasure, he starts thrusting in earnest, slowly at first, one hand supporting himself on the hardwood floor, the other reaching up to touch Crane everywhere.

 

Lewis can’t help but speed up as he leans over Crane’s ass, his lover’s pointed pelvic bones stabbing at him as he thrusts quicker and quicker, secretly relieved that Crane’s keeping his potentially dangerous metal tail wrapped around his hind leg, out of the way.

 

He bends back over Crane, keeping up a steady pace, breathless himself. But it’s still fairly easy to bend over Crane’s prostrate body as the smaller man whines and gasps beneath him.

 

“Hang in there, old man,” He says, breathing heavily. “Don’t come til I want you to.”

 

Lewis’ voice growling in his ear has Crane’s purring out of control. He thrashes his head back and forth, trying to combat the welling pleasure in him. Maybe it’s his age - he’d like to think Lewis is just this good. One hand flies to his cock and compresses the knot that wants to swell with his already impending release, and he rests his cheek on the floor.

 

He can’t even breathe properly. Every desperate gasping inhale is fucked right back out of him so quickly it’s leaving him dizzy. “You’re gonna fuck all the sushi right out of me,” his voice comes out on a wail, his ears trembling and back, his nerve endings firing off too fast, too many for him to keep track of. He feels like his skin is all coming off and wrapping around him a different way, tight and hot and wrong and good. “Oh god- oh fuck- _Lewis_.”

 

Lewis has to forcibly stop himself from responding in turn when Crane speaks up beneath him, biting his tongue until he’s safe to talk again. He doesn’t stop the rapid movement of his hips – he keeps trusting into Crane, rhythmically, almost unconsciously. Crane’s reaction is everything he could have hoped for and more – the sound of drool dripping onto the hardwood floor – it’s almost enough for him to come right there. But he’s held up by pride, and he adjusts himself and thrusts deeper, slowly stroking Crane’s chest and stomach as he increases his pace, his hips pounding against Crane’s haunches, his hands creeping up to steady Crane as he thrusts into him.

 

Crane is a mess of babbling, words rushing out of him, disjointed and confused and hot. His breath fogs the wood floors beneath him, saliva drips out of his mouth, his brain has been fucked into a puddle. All he can do is kneel and take it, take it, take it. One hand clenched hard around his knot to keep it down, to keep his orgasm at bay until Lewis tells him he’s allowed.

 

He feels freed. To be given permission by an authority to experience pleasure - even if it’s a self-appointed authority - is so liberating. He feels realized, actualized, he has no room for shame now that he’s been _allowed_.

 

“I’m gonna- oh god, oh my god, Lewis, I’m- fuck, I’m gonna come, I can’t- oh my god, oh god fuck me, don’t stop- oh my god- ” his sentences run and blur together, he closes his other hand around the base of his cock, interlocking his fingers, trying to hold back the tide growing in him until Lewis gives him permission.

 

“Just wait – “ Lewis growls, thrusting deeper into Crane, reaching down to carefully nudge Crane’s hand away from his cock, trailing his fingers upwards to wrap around Crane’s waist, so he’s holding the other man loosely around his body as he thrusts into him, bracing himself slightly against Crane’s stomach, pulling himself forward against his lover’s body.

 

Wait, Lewis said. He told him to wait. He thought he could wait, he certainly tried to, but the instant his hands released his cock, Crane’s pleasure surged forward. He yowls, his hands immediately fly back to his prick, they try to hold it back.

 

Wait, Lewis told him to wait. Three more strokes rush brutally past his prostate. Lewis told him to wait, he has to wait, he has to-

 

He comes. Hard and dry, hands clasped so tightly around his prick not a drop escapes him, but he comes loudly, caterwauling and jerking as his pelvic floor heaves and contracts and ripples in the best way. His voice goes higher, his prick gives a desperate throb, Lewis told him to _wait_.

 

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, fuck- I’m sorry-” he yells deliriously, his prick aching, still hard, unfulfilled. He tries to cover it, ashamed that he wasn’t able to wait, aroused past the point of good sense, his knot has swollen against his wishes to the size of his fist.

 

Lewis draws back as soon as he hears Crane apologizing, popping awkwardly out of his ass as he draws away, cursing himself internally. Fuck, fuck, shit, he didn’t mean to actually make Crane feel bad. He leans forward again, pulling Crane up off his elbows and slowly turning him around to embrace him properly.

 

“It’s fine.” He mumbles, gathering the smaller man in his arms. “It’s my bad. I messed up, okay? It’ll work better next time.” He buries his face in Crane’s shoulder, stroking his lover’s head comfortingly, smoothing down his ears, hiding his embarrassment as well as he can. “It’s not a problem.” He mutters into Crane’s collarbone, blushing bright red.

 

Crane straddles Lewis’ lap and his hips move nearly out of his own accord. He grabs Lewis’ face and licks across his lips and then into his mouth, panting and grinding his still-aching cock against his lover’s. He’s oversensitive, way oversensitive, but his thighs keep his hips moving and pressing as he kisses all the breath out of his lover.

 

“You’re so fucking good,” he gasps into Lewis’ mouth, his cock aching as he grinds against him. His hips jerk, he wraps an arm around Lewis’ shoulders to pull him even closer as he thrusts his cock against his lover’s.

 

Lewis’s right hand finds Crane’s cock almost automatically, stroking it, his thumb slipping against the reddish slit in the underside of his lover’s penis, causing Crane to gasp loudly and buck against his lap. Lewis barely feels his hand moving. His other arm is slung around Crane’s shoulders, his heart is beating wildly, his fingers are moving of their own accord.

 

Crane said he was “good.”

 

It has to be a sex thing. It can’t be anything else. He’s been called a lot of things by ex-lovers, ex-partners, most of which are far from complimentary, but he’s never been called “good” outside of the bedroom. And rarely in the bedroom, for that matter.

 

He makes a concentrated effort to get his head out of the clouds – so Crane isn’t done, even though he came already. Lewis can work with this. He can try to be… good.

 

He pulls Crane in closer with one arm, raising his head to trail kisses up the side of his fuzzy neck and along his wrinkled muzzle, while his other hand strokes Crane’s shaft more quickly, catching at the sensitive spots along the underside of his cock as best he can.

 

Crane is beyond the point of words. His muscles all droop and he’s completely at Lewis’ mercy, slumping against him and humping wearily into his hand. He’s still so far on the edge, so close, he’s so close. He was close before, his balls were ready to ejaculate, he was so close- he’s so close.

 

“Lewis, Lewis, oh my god,” his voice has retreated high up into his nose, breathy and quiet. He rests his forehead against Lewis’, his whole body shaking from end to end, his tail whipping back and forth behind him, loudly clunking on the hard wood.

 

His cock and his still-raw (in the best way) hole are siphoning pleasure through his body. He writhes desperately in his lover’s arms. “Lewis, Lewis- oh my god I’m going to- oh god I’m close again- fuck- oh- Lewis, please, Lewis, I- I’m- oh please-”

 

“Yes, yes, you can, okay, please, yes, yes, yes,” Lewis stammers, breathing shallowly himself as he speeds up the pace of his left hand, pressing forward to kiss Crane’s face. He closes his eyes and pulls Crane tight against him, feeling his lover’s body twisting against him, but always leaning towards him, always reaching closer.

 

Given permission, Crane loses his mind. He falls back, caught and suspended only by Lewis’ arm as his body goes completely limp in the throes of his orgasm. “Thank you- !” he gasps, hips jerking as jet after jet of semen stripes over his belly. “Thank you thank you thank- oh my god- Lewis- oh god oh FUCK thank you-”

 

Pleasure wipes his mind totally blank, sending him careening into a white abyss, his muscles all tense and then release, fluttering and floating, he doesn’t realize he’s been laid down flat on his back by Lewis as he rides out wave after wave of earth-shattering pleasure.

 

He might have tears running down his face, he’s not sure. It wouldn’t be a crime to cry over pleasure this intense. His hands search, roaming blindly until he can find Lewis’ shoulders where he holds on tight and thrusts his hips through eternities of bliss. When he finally comes down he’s sure it’s been hours, his knot even larger than before, but it will go down in its own time now.

 

Staring blearily upwards through watery eyes, Crane’s hands slip from Lewis’ shoulders to cup his face. “You are so good to me,” he whispers hoarsely, pulling him down gently to lick across his lips once.

 

Lewis swipe at his eyes distractedly, ignoring the way they’re welling up so that he can bend down and kiss Crane again, almost falling on top of him, both spread out on the hardwood floor. He’s panting too, Crane’s claws digging into his shoulders deliciously, his grin firmly back on his face.

 

“You are,” He mutters, kissing Crane along the side of his muzzle, trying not to crush the smaller man under his body. “You’re too good. You’re so lovely.”

 

He draws back slightly and helps Crane upwards, pulling him into a sitting position. Crane is limp in his arms, and he’s a little worried as he strokes his lover’s ears backwards, supporting him carefully. “Hey – are you okay?” He asks, and then a thought strikes him. “Did I… did I go too hard on you?”

 

“Mmh, no,” Crane mumbles. His whole body feels warm and numb, he slumps against his lover’s broad, warm chest. His eyes feel heavy, so he lets them close and sniffles as he listens to Lewis’ heart beat. “You’re... I haven’t...” he yawns. “It’s been a while... For me. Since anybody’s taken me like that. Long... Long time. Forgot how amazing. How exhausting,” he chuckles breathily through his nose, his arms curling up between his chest and Lewis’.

 

Lewis relaxes all at once. He wasn’t aware of how nervous he was until Crane reassured him.

 

“C’mon, old man, at least let me get you to the bed. Don’t fall asleep on the floor.” He says brusquely, covering up the relief he’s feeling. He stumbles to his feet, pulling Crane up with him, supporting the smaller man’s slight frame easily. They manage to make it to the bed with minor difficulty, and Lewis deposits Crane gently inside, kissing his cheek as he curls around a cushion, his tail arcing delicately around him. Lewis feels his heart leap painfully in his chest.

 

“I’m really glad I met you.” He mumbles, not sure Crane can hear him, not even sure the other man is awake.

 

“Mmmh,” Crane mumbles, rubbing his face against a pillow. He’s asleep in moments, dead to the world. He doesn’t know that Lewis creeps off to the bathroom to finish himself in the shower, he doesn’t know that the man puts away the sushi, or that he cleans the dribbles of his saliva off the floor. He sleeps totally soundly, he doesn’t even wake when Lewis crawls into bed. 


	18. Chapter 18

When morning breaks and the sun stretches its fingers over his face, he wakes feeling refreshed. He rolls over and the first thing he notices is that he has to go to the bathroom quite urgently.

 

Once voided and cleaned, Crane slips soundlessly back into the bed. Lewis is still sleeping, golden and fleecy and lovely. Crane props his chin on a pillow, cradling it to his chest and he just looks at his lover. He can hardly believe how beautiful he is. His broad body is stunning, his boyish face charming, his hair a delight of perfect curls. He could stare at his Greek statue of a lover for hours, probably. Lose himself in following the lines and curves of his muscles and the modest fat that shields parts of him.

 

He is a work of art, Crane muses as he stares down his legs and back up to his shapely hips. A marvel of masculinity, especially where it matters. A lazy smile curls the cat’s mouth as he fondly recalls last night. He should probably take extra care later in the shower to clean himself out after-

 

Wait. Lewis didn’t come inside him. His memories are a bit blurry of the haze of sex that happened last night, but he certainly knows he didn’t come inside him. In fact, he doesn’t remember how Lewis did come. Was it over his belly? In his hand? His mouth? It hits him like a freight train and emerald eyes widen in shock and shame.

 

Lewis didn’t come last night. Crane was greedy and took all the pleasure for himself and then _fell asleep_ like a sleazy old man. He draws a breath in through his nose, his cheeks heating up. Lewis is probably upset with him, he’d be upset with himself if he were Lewis. He has to right this error before it becomes an argument.

 

Luckily Lewis didn’t tie his sleeping pants last night. All it takes is a very gentle tug and he can easily fish the sleeping man’s soft prick out of his pants, and he drapes it over his belly. It’s awfully cute soft, Crane thinks, glancing up to his lover’s face before he delicately handles the sleep-warm flesh upright and promptly closes his mouth around it, soft-tongued and warm and he sucks.

 

Lewis stirs and groans in his sleep, taking a few moments to fully rouse himself. He doesn’t want to wake up – he’s in the throes of some incredibly pleasurable dream, something he can’t quite remember but it feels amazing. And then he realizes he’s not asleep anymore, but the feeling hasn’t stopped. He opens his eyes slowly and has to blink several times before he can focus on Crane, gently sucking at his penis.

 

“Wow,” He mumbles, and leans backwards again, still drowsy. “That feels amazing...”

 

He arches his back lazily, closing his eyes. Crane’s tongue slips across his shaft in a particularly satisfying way and he inhales sharply, his eyes springing open again. He shifts backwards slightly and props himself up on his elbows, watching Crane peer up at him from between his legs.

 

“Uh. Not like I’m complaining, but what –nnh- what brought this on?” he asks, suddenly wide awake and breathless.

 

Crane’s lips spread into a cheshire smile, but he doesn’t answer Lewis right away. He can feel him getting harder on his tongue and he doesn’t want to miss a moment of it. Now that Lewis is awake, he stops stifling his purring, and the vibrations travel up his throat and settle in his tongue all around his lover’s cock.

 

His textured tongue scrapes along the underside of Lewis’ prick, and he cups his balls with one hand, negotiating the right angle with his other hand for him to best attack his lover’s cock. He grinds the length against the ribbed roof of his mouth and swallows him down to the root, gagging once before he gets his reflex under control and he can gulp him down his vibrating throat.

 

“F-fuck…” Lewis sucks in breath. Crane’s purring rumbles against his cock, sending shudders of pleasure through his body. He reaches down to stroke behind Crane’s ears, lightly pressing his head down. When Crane’s whiskers brush his thighs he twitches and grins.

 

Moaning, he rotates his hips slowly, still gazing down at Crane while his lover swallows him. He’s fully erect now, floating in a haze of pleasure that still feels like a dream.

 

Well, Lewis doesn’t seem to have any hard feelings, so that’s a plus. Or maybe he’s just not awake enough to remember his disquiet. Either way, Crane keeps sucking, relaxing his jaw to take his lover all the way down.

 

Lewis lets out a gasping little laugh when Crane’s purring tickles him, and immediately groans again, his body tensing with pleasure as Crane gags around him. With another low moan of pleasure, he draws Crane off his cock and toward him, bending forward to kiss his face.

 

Crane licks Lewis’ lips and jaw, stooping to rub his face against his throat while lazily pulling at his lover’s prick in lieu of his mouth. His purring grows even louder when Lewis plays with his ears, and a quiet smile splits his face as he nuzzles his cheek against Lewis’ shoulder.

 

He licks and nips and kisses down his lover’s chest and belly until he’s at face level again with his lover’s cock, and licks his lips. It’s honestly lovely, and he can’t say that for all the human cocks he’s been in contact with. He traces the veins with the flat of his tongue, and closes his mouth around the head to give it a suck before swallowing down to the root again. Now that he’s expecting the reflex, he can enjoy the little flip his belly does and makes a show of flattening his ears back and gagging, loudly.

 

His throat flutters and convulses and he makes all sorts of little wet mewling noises as he bobs his head faster, determined to get his lover off in spectacular fashion. He gags every few times the back of his throat is stabbed, knowing how much Lewis love the sound and sensation.

 

Each time Crane gags around him, Lewis feels the breath hitch in his chest. He leans back against the pillows beneath him, arching his back and shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over him. He has to bite his lip to keep from crying out – he wants to hear every choking, whimpering sound out of Crane’s mouth. He loses himself in the movement of his lover’s throat, the sounds he’s making, the way he expertly swipes his rough tongue across the underside of his cock, lighting up every nerve in Lewis’s body.

 

His hands clutch at Crane’s shoulders, fingers twitching, muscles tensing as he rockets towards orgasm. Lewis lets out a loud moan and does his best to warn Crane, disjointed by arousal.

 

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna – fuck – I’m coming- ”

 

Crane feels the tide on his tongue and gives a moan of approval. There’s a hot, quiet knot of pleasure in his belly, but it’s not insistent. He can do without it. Besides, he needs to even the score. He sucks Lewis dry for every drop he has, scraping his oversensitive skin until the younger man is bucking and writhing and tugging at his ears for him to stop.

 

Pulling off with a wet sound, Crane licks his lips and swallows down the rest of Lewis’ release. He crawls up over the spent and panting young man and flops down over his body, curling up and purring into his neck as he rubs his whiskers against his pulse.

 

“Attaboy,” he hums, closing his eyes contentedly as he listens to Lewis’ heart race under his ear.

 

“That was a nice way to wake up.” Lewis says somewhat inanely, as soon as he can speak coherently. Aftershocks are still running down his body, and he tightens his arms around Crane as the older man chuckles. They lay in bed for most of the morning, cuddling. Neither of them are particularly interested in breakfast.

 

 

====

 

 

The next night Lewis gets a call on his comm from one of the restaurants he applied at - not the sushi bar, to his slight disappointment, but a vegan café a few blocks from the apartment. He teases Crane about bringing him home leftovers, laughing at Crane’s look of disgust.

 

He hasn’t realized how much he’s been craving some kind of routine until he starts the job – now there’s something to do while Crane’s out on errands during the day, and when he gets off work at nine Crane is sometimes there to walk him home. On Lewis’s first day off they wander around the city together, only slightly inconvenienced by having to dodge behind parked cars and into alleys whenever one of Titanium’s henchmen is nearby. They settle into a comfortable and easy rhythm in the next week, exchanging stories about their days, falling asleep together at night.

 

Now Lewis is leaning heavily against the wall of the elevator, dead drunk, trying to make his key fit into the slot. It takes him a couple tries – he’s seeing double, and if he closes his eyes the room spins around him. Finally turning the key, he swings the door open just a little too quickly and stumbles into the apartment, dropping his shoulder bag on the floor with an audible thump.

 

Crane, who was sitting at the kitchen table polishing something, flinches at the sudden loud noise. He snaps closed what he was working on and looks up at the swaggering figure of his lover. His nose wrinkles as the sharp, sour scent of alcohol wafts on the air in the room.

 

“Are you drunk?” he dismounts his chair gracefully and pads across the room to catch Lewis as he staggers. It’s not a question he really expects an answer two, in part because it’s painfully obvious how drunk Lewis is by how disoriented he is, and because it’s evident in the cloud of alcohol fumes that have collected around him. “Why are you drunk?”

 

“I went out with some of my coworkers. Sorry I’m late. Comm died. Hey,” Lewis slings his arms around Crane’s waist and kisses him, ignoring the way Crane wrinkles his nose. “C’mon. Don’t be mad.”

 

Crane chuckles wryly. “I’m not mad, you just stink,” he shakes his head and helps Lewis stumble over to the kitchen table, and stoops to untie his shoes (since there’s no way in hell Lewis will be able to) in order to pull them off. “You’re a grown up, you’re allowed to drink. I’m glad you’re making friends, the more people you have on your side the better. What was the occasion?”

 

Lewis grins, leaning back in his chair. It’s a lot easier to think now that he doesn’t have to concentrate on moving.

 

“Oh, fuck, it was crazy. One of Titanium’s guys came into my restaurant right when we’re about to close, and started fucking with the waiters – like telling them the food sucks, they brought out the wrong thing, he’s not paying – he’s being a fucking asshole. I’m doing shit in the back so all I can hear is there’s some customer being a dick. So then the fucker decides he wants to go back to the kitchen and start harassing the cook, who’s this really nice kid, Aaron, who never stands up for himself. So the guy busts through the doors and I get in his face, telling him he’s trespassing, this is employees only, he can fuck off out of the restaurant or I’ll throw him out. And he does,” Lewis laughs, remembering the look of confusion on the henchman’s face, like he’d never had anyone tell him to leave before. “Dude was a foot taller than me and could’ve fucking destroyed me but he ran out with his tail between his legs. The whole kitchen was looking at me like I just slayed a dragon or some shit. So we all went out for drinks and spent the whole time talking shit basically. My boss wasn’t even mad at me, she bought everybody a round.”

 

He slowly notices that Crane isn’t saying anything, and looks down at him. “What? The guy barely got a good look at me.”

 

The instant Lewis mentioned Titanium’s name, his mood dropped dramatically from mild amusement at his lover’s drunken antics, to total frigid anger. “You confronted one of Titanium’s men!” Crane stands up, squaring off. He really shouldn’t try to talk sense into Lewis when he’s drunk, it’ll all go in one ear and out the other, but he can’t help himself. “After I deliberately told you not to! I don’t expect a lot out of you Lewis, just this one thing! All it takes is one cross word, he tells his friend who tells his friend and then Titanium hears about the sheep working down the block!”

 

Lewis is taken aback by Crane’s fury, although he really shouldn’t be – as soon as the henchman had left the restaurant that night he’d felt his heart sink, knowing he’d fucked up. But then everyone at work had been so happy, and it had felt so good to actually _do something_... it tears at him that he’s supposed to sit around cowed and hiding while bullying fucks get the run of the place. And Crane wants him to keep doing that. He glares up at Crane, anger clearing his vision.

 

“What was I s’posed to do, exactly? Hide in the back like a fucking coward? He would’ve seen me anyway. I’m not gonna keep taking shit and letting other people take shit for me. I spent a month and a half with that fuck controlling my life, I’m not gonna lay down and take it forever,” He stumbles to his feet, almost overturning the chair, fists clenched so hard his knuckles hurt. He keeps thinking about the night Crane came home beaten. He’s not going to let that happen for his sake ever again. His face is burning with whiskey and rage.

 

“And by the way, it’s real fucking cute how low your expectations of me are,” He adds bitterly.

 

Crane massages his forehead with an irate sigh, he probably shouldn’t try to explain to a drunk person about his own meaning, but he doesn’t have a track record of the brightest decisions. He squares his shoulders, but is suddenly very aware of how much bigger than him Lewis is. “I didn’t mean I only have one expectation, I mean I don’t _ask_ a lot of you. I only ask one thing, that you lie low and keep out of the line of fire and you deliberately did exactly the opposite.”

 

His voice starts to escalate, not shouting exactly, but loud and pointed and sharp. “You _are_ supposed to lie down and take it forever, because that’s what you _do_ when someone with more power than you would like to _kill you_. That’s what I’ve been doing for twenty years and it’s the only thing that’s kept me alive. If you go jumping in front of bullets, you’re going to get shot!”

 

“You get shot anyway, though!” Lewis is yelling, his voice echoing around the apartment. “You get the fucking shit beat out of you! The bastards of the world don’t stop coming for you when you play by their rules!” He throws his hands up in the air, turning away from Crane.

 

“Look, just… whatever, okay? Christ. I fucked up then. Just forget it.” He growls. His head is swimming uneasily and he has to make an effort to stop swaying. “Didn’t wanna come home and fight.”

 

Crane grabs Lewis by the shoulder and forces him to turn around to face him. “It’s not just about you anymore, Lewis,” he says firmly, scoldingly. “It’s not just about your pride or your revenge, you have to think about what you’d lose- about who you’d leave behind! Do you have any idea what I’d do if I lost you because you _died_ just to keep some cook for being bullied about how he made food?!”

 

Lewis shrugs him off angrily, stumbling backwards. Crane can’t just give it a rest? He feels like shit, his tiny victory dissolving into a fight he really doesn’t want to keep having. He shakes his head dizzily and glares down at Crane’s feet.

 

“I just wanted to protect someone. Fuck knows I can’t keep you safe,” He says bitterly, voice cracking.

 

“I don’t _need_ you to keep me safe!” Crane is shouting now, his eyes feel hot, but he won’t let any tears flow. “I know how to fight! More importantly, I know how to _pick my fights!_ I need you to keep yourself safe because I can’t live without you, you stupid ass!”

 

Lewis feels like he’s been punched in the chest. He sinks down to the floor, folding his hands over the base of his horns and staring at the hardwood, eyes blurry with tears.

 

“I can’t either,” His voice is hoarse from shouting, his tongue feels numb in his mouth. “Y’re out there every day. You work for him. I never know if you’re gonna come home beat up or missing an ear or… and I can’t do shit. I fucking love you and I can’t do anything fucking right for you.” He closes his eyes and lets the world spin wildly, his ears roaring, throat tight.

 

Crane sighs and squats down beside Lewis, helping him to a stand. He half-carries him towards the bathroom and leans him up against the bathroom wall, turning on the shower so it’s cool, but not freezing. “I know how to take care of myself,” he promises the drunken younger man as he starts to undress him. “I’ve been in a pattern for years now, I know how to keep myself safe. I need you to focus on keeping _yourself_ safe too. I can’t protect you when you’re out on your own, you have to do it for me.”

 

He tugs Lewis’ pants on and ushers him into the shower, keeping him upright when he stumbles on the tile lip. “At that means letting other people take their own shit sometimes.”

 

“Okay,” Lewis mutters, leaning his face into the spray of water. He’s ready to sober up now, already ashamed of coming home like this. Hadn’t he learned to stop doing this? And shouldn’t he, at some point, get to a stage in this relationship where Crane isn’t constantly having to take care of him? Protecting each other aside, he needs to start being an adult here. Crane deserves better than this.

 

“Look, Crane…” He rubs his forehead and looks the other man in the eyes properly. “C’n you leave me alone for a little while? I’m not mad. I just… wanna be alone.”

 

Crane clenches his jaw, torn between the part of him that wants to respect Lewis’ wishes, and the part of him that wants to take care of Lewis, practically autonomously. “Yeah,” he mutters, stepping back and closing the shower door. “I’m just gonna... Go out.”

 

He doesn’t wait for Lewis’ response before he tugs on a pair of pants and yanks his hat down over his ears. He’s sure he can find a place to crash for the night. If he stays in the apartment, he’ll hover all night. It’s not like there’s another place in the apartment he can go to let Lewis be alone, it’s all one big room. And he doesn’t have any self control when it comes to Lewis. The night is fairly cold, but he flips open his comm and makes a call. He’ll find somewhere.

 

Lewis stands in the shower for a long time, until the water gets too cold to bear. He hasn’t sobered up nearly as much as he wanted to, but at least he’s not stumbling anymore. He tugs on his jeans and a t-shirt, towels off his hair, and slowly opens the bathroom door.

 

“Crane? I’m sorry about – “ The words die in his throat. The apartment’s empty.

 

Okay, so Crane went to bed. That’s reasonable – it’s late, and if he was Crane he’d rather go to sleep than deal with his drunk idiot of a lover. He crosses over to the bed and lifts up the flap carefully, not wanting to wake Crane.

 

There’s no one inside.

 

“Crane?” Lewis calls out again, feeling his heartrate starting to speed up. It’s not like there’s anywhere else in the apartment where he could be – there’s two rooms and no hidey holes. Crane’s gone. And then it occurs to Lewis that when he asked Crane to leave the bathroom for a little while, the other man must have taken it as being kicked out of his own apartment.

 

“Fuck,” Lewis mutters, feeling tears stinging in his eyes again. He angrily wipes them away, telling himself not to be so pathetic. He’s good at this. He’s got 21 years of experience at being left behind, and leaving. And if Crane’s sick of his shit, that’s fair – he’d be sick of it too. Still, he feels his heart sinking, the empty apartment pressing in on him even more than it did the first time Crane went away.

 

Luckily Crane’s only other real friend is in the general area, and meets him for a very late dinner at a bar, followed by a proper couch crashing. He has a hard time sleeping, and spends most of the night tossing and turning before he gives up and watches movies with his friend without really paying attention. All he can think about is Lewis - if he got out of the shower okay-

 

What if he slipped and hit his head?   
What if he has a concussion?   
What if he drunkenly wandered out of the apartment and got hit by a car?  
What if he breaks a glass and gets glass in his foot?   
What if he chokes on his own vomit?

 

He can’t sleep. He doesn’t even try. He feels queasy and guilty and anxious. Lewis must think he’s furious with him, and that’s why he left. He’ll have to let him know tomorrow morning it’s exactly the opposite reason.

 

Lewis finds himself wandering around the apartment, pacing unhappily, trying to keep himself from crying. He opens and closes cupboards, peers into the closet, where his eye happens to land on the box of compasses. He pulls it out, sitting cross legged on the floor, studying them carefully. They’re cool in his hands, each one different to the next, some cheap and lightweight, others heavy and old and clearly very costly. There’s gold, silver, bronze, tin. Some don’t work – their needles swing wildly or point in the wrong direction. Lewis stares at them, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He wants one to point to where Crane is now. No, he wants Crane with him right now, kneeling beside him, his voice soft and deep as he tells stories about each compass. He wants him to come home again.

 

His heart feels like a rock in his chest. Lewis stands and wanders over to the kitchen, pulling a roll of twine and some scissors out of one of the drawers. Without thinking about it, he crosses back to the pile of compasses spread in front of the closet and begins to methodically tie the twine around each one. Then he searches until he finds a small box of tacks in the very back of the cupboard above the stove (why does Crane keep them there? His kitchen doesn’t make sense) and begins to tack the compasses to the ceiling. With each one, he sends up a prayer that Crane will come home.

 

The room is filled with gently swinging compasses by the time he finishes, and the sun is about to come up. Lewis stands in the middle of them, still drunk and trying not to cry, staring at the door, willing it to open. Finally he shakes his head bitterly and stumbles into bed. He curls up into a little ball and tries not to think of the way Crane’s arms wrap around him. Eventually he falls into a light and miserable sleep.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapter lengths are so inconsistent

Crane is about as well rested as Lewis is when he makes his way up to the elevator to his floor. He has a bag with him, hastily bought from a shop at the last second before he finally trudged home with his tail between his legs. He has to face Lewis eventually. He takes a deep breath as the elevator shudders to a stop. The doors open, he straightens his back-

 

He freezes. One step into the apartment, he freezes. All of his compasses have been artfully dangled from the ceiling. Bright mirrored metals catching light, glittery rhinestones casting colored shadows, rainbows dancing on the walls from the glass. The sight takes his breath away. He must have stood there just staring for a solid five minutes before he even remembered to breathe or blink.

 

Lewis did this. He stormed out of the apartment and instead of doing something stupid or dangerous or reckless, Lewis did _this_. Crane feels his heart pounding in his chest. Maybe Lewis was right, maybe he  _does_ have low expectations of him if his first thought was that Lewis would break something in his stupor and his anger.

 

He finally moves into the kitchen to set the bag on the counter, and he hears stirring inside the bed. Carefully, he creeps over to the bed and peeks inside the flap. Lewis is asleep, but only just barely; tossing and moaning fitfully. Silently, Crane climbs into the bed and crawls over his nightmaring lover, and he leans down to rub his face against Lewis’ neck and shoulder to wake him gently with his purring.

 

At first Lewis thinks he’s still dreaming – there’s the familiar sensation of Crane nuzzling his neck, the low rumble of his purring. He doesn’t want to open his eyes in case it’s just a dream.

 

“You’re back…” he mumbles sleepily. “Are you really back?”

 

“I’m really back,” Crane whispers, rubbing into the other side of Lewis’ neck. “I love what you did with my compasses. It’s beautiful, I never could have come up with something like that. Thank you.”

 

When he hears Crane’s voice Lewis finally opens his eyes. And Crane’s still there. He wraps his arms around his lover, eyes filling with tears. “Couldn’t sleep,” He mutters. “I didn’t mean to make you leave. I’m so sorry.” He’s treasuring the feeling of his lover’s body, still trying to make himself understand that Crane is really here. He came back. He came back.

 

“Shh, you didn’t make me leave,” Crane hums, licking Lewis’ cheeks as he leans over him on his elbows. “I left on my own. I care about you too much to be able to give you the space you need if I don’t make myself physically leave. You didn’t chase me out. I just went to a friend’s place for the night, it’s alright. I even brought you something.”

 

“If it’s a compass I ran out of string,” Lewis mumbles. He realizes he’s still a little drunk, although he’s starting to get a splitting headache. He must have really, really overdone it last night. But even knowing he’s in for a massive hangover doesn’t really matter at the moment. He lets go of Crane reluctantly and sits up, wiping his eyes.

 

“It’s not a compass,” Crane chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s probably dumb... But it’s just... I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about drinking. I’m not upset with you for getting drunk, I’m not even really that upset.” he crawls into Lewis’ lap and curls into his lover’s chest. “I just... I care about you. Stupid.” he crushes his face into Lewis’ shoulder. “So I brought home more booze. I don’t care if you drink, just... maybe only drink here.”

 

Even though the thought of more alcohol makes his stomach lurch, Lewis is touched by the gesture. He strokes Crane’s head, scratching lightly behind his ears.

 

“Thank you,” He says quietly. “I don’t… I haven’t been that drunk since I was 18. I mean, I wasn’t an alcoholic or anything and it’s not like you’re putting me in danger by having booze in the house, but I drank a lot as a kid, and most of the reason I stopped is because of… stuff like last night. So I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I’m not going to get like that again. But it means a lot that you trust me. And that you care.”

 

He leans down to kiss the side of Crane’s mouth, hoping his breath doesn’t smell like stale whiskey.

 

Crane’s cautious purring explodes into full-blown rumbles at the kiss and he rubs his face into Lewis’ with a smile. “I also brought home breakfast. For you, that is. I’ve got sushi to last me for the rest of my life, probably. Stopped by your restaurant where protein goes to die and picked up some fancy quiche that has a bunch of plants in it. Mushrooms and spinach and tomatoes, I think.”

 

“We have beans and nuts, that’s protein,” Lewis says distractedly, smiling at the way Crane’s chest is rumbling against his own. He feels like he could stay like this forever, even the stabbing pain in his head isn’t enough to detract from his happiness. But Crane seems like he’s actually hungry, so Lewis hauls himself out of the bed, wincing at the light streaming in through the open windows.

 

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath, hoping Crane doesn’t hear him. This is going to be a hangover for the ages. Hopefully he can get some food and water down before he starts dry heaving.

 

“You have a headache,” Crane frowns, padding over to Lewis and standing up on his tiptoes to bump his nose against his lover’s chin. “Not such a great thing, getting smashed, it seems. I’ve never been drunk, what’s the point? Why do people do it? It seems like the... What’s it called.... hand-over makes it not worth it.”

 

“Hangover.” Lewis corrects him, resting his chin on the top of Crane’s head. “You don’t get one every time, that’s part of it – if you’re smart about it and drink a lot of water and don’t chug whiskey like an asshole it’s pretty easy to avoid,” He grimaces at the thought of whiskey, and heads over to the sink to run himself a glass of water.

 

“It’s mostly because being drunk is awesome while you’re drunk. I dunno how to explain it to someone who’s never… you get confident and everything is really funny and you’re really enthusiastic about everything, moving feels like you’re floating, you feel like you’re invincible. But it’s also really easy to overdo, and then at a certain point everything starts spinning and you’re overemotional and you get into fights with people you love,” He gulps down his water and refills the glass to avoid looking at Crane.

 

“Oh, I get it. It must be really different for humans then. I’ve never tried it, but I’ve heard that when other feraline have tried it, they just get dizzy and throw up and fall over a lot. There’ve been a lot of deaths on Rising Star of young people trying the alcohol they sell to the tourists and then falling off rooves or stumbling into traffic. It’s nasty stuff.”

 

He slides Lewis’ quiche onto a plate and blows on it to try and chase away some of the steam and heat. “It’s hot,” he warns his lover as he sets it down in front of him on the table. He grabs a box of sushi from the fridge and sits down across from him to nibble one.

 

“That makes sense.” Lewis says, poking at his breakfast. He’s really, really not hungry, but he knows if he doesn’t manage to eat something he’ll just be throwing up bile. “Different biology and all. You’re definitely not supposed to give cats alcohol back on Earth. But there’s also some humans with alcohol allergies or just really bad tolerance. And humans die getting drunk and doing stupid shit on Earth too. Anyway this is also why I don’t drink that much anymore, or at least not til last night – I didn’t get hangovers til I was about 18. You get ‘em more as you get older. But I started drinking way too fucking young and didn’t really get the consequences until I grew up some.” He looks back up at Crane, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. “Apparently all the hangovers I didn’t get as a kid were waiting for now.” He says wryly.

 

Crane’s eyes wrinkle with a smile. “If you only drink here with me, I can remind your stupid ass to drink water, too,” he says with a little chuckle. He notices Lewis’ queasy swaying, and reaching across the table to rest a hand on the back of his lover’s. “Don’t worry about the quiche, if you think you’re going to throw this up. There’s three more pieces. Better to have something in your stomach, it won’t be a waste.”

 

“Yeah. I’m just trying to get it down. Either way I’ll feel better if I eat something – not eating makes this stuff worse usually,” Lewis isn’t sure why he’s going into so much explanation on the nature of hangovers, since he doesn’t intend on getting this drunk again, especially not around Crane. Still, it’s a distraction from his pounding head and uneasy stomach.

 

“I could try to fuck the hangover out of you,” Crane teases, licking the back of Lewis’ neck. “Are you up for a little make-up nookie?”

 

Lewis swallows and tries to straighten up a little. “I don’t think I can handle rough stuff right now.” He winces. His head is killing him, and he feels weak on his feet already. “But if you wanna make me feel better I won’t say no.”

 

Crane grins. “I can do gentle.”


	20. Chapter 20

Routine comes naturally to Crane. More naturally than he thought it would. He always figured his life was too hectic for routine - and sometimes it is. Sometimes still Titanium flings him out into space, but those nights are always warmed by a call to home with his comm.

 

Sometimes he’ll bring home a souvenir for Lewis. A space rock, a real diamond, a shirt from another planet.  
Sometimes he’ll bring home another compass or two and together they hang it from the ceiling. No more dusty hidden boxes for them.  
Sometimes he’ll come home a little beat up. Now he’s comfortable letting Lewis tend his wounds.

 

Days blend into weeks, Crane buys a calendar. It’s hard to believe how much time has passed since they met. It feels like yesterday, at once like a thousand yesterdays ago. Years, possibly, compressed into days and then weeks and then months. Comfort and stability are things Crane never realized he craved.

 

He’d expected routine would bore him. There’s not a thing boring about coming home to Lewis’ smiling face, there’s nothing boring about tumbling into bed or watching his lover’s hair catch and steal sunlight. There’s nothing boring about kissing him, making love. He never gets used to Lewis. Every day when he wakes up beside him it’s like getting a new gift, another day spent with someone he loves so passionately after so many years of bitter, quiet loneliness.

 

Every day Lewis finds new ways to surprise him. He’s not exactly a complex man, he has his ways and Crane thought he learned them. But then Lewis will do something to shock him- something exciting or new or different. He’ll bring home a new recipe to try, or find a new way to make Crane soar higher with pleasure. He leaves no nerve ending untouched.

 

When they reach the six-month anniversary of the first day Lewis came into Crane’s life, he treats them both with dinner out and then dancing. Lewis is by no means a dancing machine, but Crane knows enough to lead him, and they stumble back to the apartment giggling and horny and they don’t even make it all the way to the bed.

 

Draped in the bed with a trail of clothing behind them, coming down from the aftershocks of their giddy lovemaking, Crane asks Lewis to look for something to nibble in the cupboards. They’d eaten before they went dancing, but that was a couple hours ago and the dancing worked most of it off.

 

“We need to go shopping.” Lewis calls back to Crane, who’s got his head poked out of the bed and is watching him search through the kitchen. “I mean, you still have like a thousand leftover dumplings from last weekend, unless you’re sick of them.”

 

He shuts the fridge door and rummages through the cupboard over the sink, his fingers clinking on a glass bottle he’s not familiar with. Curious, he pulls it out and starts laughing.

 

“Hey, remember when I came home drunk that one time and you immediately bought me a bottle of whiskey?” He holds up the bottle. “’Cause I completely forgot we even had this.”

 

“I forgot too,” Crane laughs and rolls over on his back to observe his lover upside down. “I’d prefer you don’t pour me a shot. Doesn’t agree with me. Feel free to drink, if you like, I’ll just stay here and watch you get dumber.”

 

“Nah, you get to participate too. Here, did you want the dumplings or not?” Lewis asks, fishing in the fridge for the container. One of his work friends had passed along an interesting recipe for shrimp shu mai, which Lewis hadn’t realized was meant to serve four until he was already too far along to give up. He’d presented Crane with a stack of dumplings almost as large as his head, laughing at his skeptical expression before throwing most of them into a large Tupperware.

 

Crane nods, still lying upside-down, and Lewis pulls out the container, setting it on the counter and grabbing a bottle of iced tea out of the fridge. He pours himself a glass and splashes in a generous shot of whiskey, then grabs the whole affair and carries it back to Crane.

 

“Okay, so we’re adults – I’m an adult, and you’re an old guy – so here’s what we’re gonna do. Do you know any drinking games?”

 

“Why would I know any drinking games?” Crane laughs through his nose and rolls back over onto his belly. “I drink water, and that’s basically it. What’s a drinking game? Blindfold yourself and try to find the bendy straw with no hands?”

 

“No, but that would be hilarious to watch, especially if everyone’s drunk.” Lewis says. He settles himself cross-legged in front of the bed, handing Crane the Tupperware of dumplings. “Drinking games are a really stupid human thing, where kids add rules to drinking so they have an excuse to get hammered faster. So, okay, the one I used to play when I was younger is called Never Have I Ever. What you do is, one person says something they haven’t done, but think everyone else in the room has. Like, ‘Never have I ever gone clubbing before tonight.’ And if you’ve done it, you have to drink. Or in your case, eat a dumpling. The point is to get your friends drunk or embarrass them or both.”

 

Crane dangles one leg over the edge of the bed, folding the other under himself with a laugh as he sets the box of dumplings in his lap. “Alright... I can get behind this,” he says. He was feeling hungry after all. “Maybe though, you should go first. Just so I see- wait, you’ve never gone clubbing before? That would explain the dancing.”

 

“What do you mean?” Lewis asks, mock-offended. “You weren’t swept off your feet by my incredible moves?” He scoots over so he can lean against the edge of the bed, his shoulder brushing Crane’s leg. He grins up at his lover, picking up his glass.

 

“Okay, never have I ever made rude remarks about my boyfriend’s dancing. Now you eat, and now it’s your turn to ask.”

 

“Is it common for you to take such easy shots like that?” Crane teases, willingly popping a dumpling in his mouth. “Because in that case I could say a million things that I have never experienced about having horns.”

 

“That’s just an example.” Lewis elbows Crane’s leg playfully. “You go for easy shots when you’ve got a lot of people in the room. We should be able to try a little harder.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Crane laughs, going silent for a moment as he thinks. “I have never- er, never have I ever eaten chocolate.”

 

Lewis takes a sip of his drink, grimacing a little. He’s made it a little stronger than he intended to. He’ll have to pour a little more carefully on the next glass. “Never have I ever flown a spaceship.”

 

“Well,” Crane starts with a huff. “What do you mean by space ship? Because I’m sure it means something very different for you than it means for me. For me a “space ship” is something that has warp speed and a bridge and a crew to fly it. But you probably count my cruiser as a “space ship” because it floats instead of having wheels.”

 

“I was thinking a ship that actually goes into space.” Lewis says. “We do have those on Earth, you know. Are you gonna argue about the meaning of ‘flown’ too?”

 

“Fair enough, I do fly my cruiser in space,” Crane chuckles and pops a dumpling in his mouth. The burst of flavor surprises and delights him every single time. He would eat faster if it weren’t for this silly game- although he has to admit, it’ll be a nice way to urge information out of Lewis in a safe and fun way.

 

He thinks briefly, wondering what Lewis might have experienced in his life. “Never have I ever gone properly _swimming_ before,” he says, still chewing.

 

“You really haven’t ever been swimming?” Lewis sips his drink, setting the glass down carefully on the floor next to him. “I mean, cats and water, I guess it makes sense, but you don’t have a problem showering or anything.”

 

“There aren’t any bodies of water on Rising Star. Most people there don’t know how to swim. We’ve never learned, it was never a necessity. I still don’t encounter a lot of water,” Crane says, stooping down to nose through Lewis’ hair. "I've been in deep water, but never deep enough to swim in it."

 

“Can you promise to never take me to Rising Star?” Lewis inclines his head to let Crane get a better angle. “The more I hear about it the shittier it sounds.” He sighs happily as Crane rests his face on the top of his head.

 

“I never plan on going back,” Crane promises him with a little laugh, nuzzling against Lewis’ horns. “You’re safe, I promise. No tacky gambling or choking on smog for this little lamb.”

 

“Good," Lewis smiles and tries to think of another question. “Okay, never have I ever… dated anyone taller than me.” This one’s a stab in the dark – he’s never asked about Crane’s dating history, but Crane’s small enough that he feels like it’s a reasonable guess.

 

“That’s cheating, you giant,” Crane laughs but takes a dumpling anyway, his hunger still gnawing at the back of his throat. “Of course you haven’t dated anyone taller than you, everyone else is busy being normal sized.”

 

“You realize I’m barely above average for a human.” Says Lewis, smirking. “Just because you’re a tiny kitten…”

 

“You shut your mouth,” Crane grins and rests his chin on Lewis’ head as he ponders a new question. “Never have I ever... ridden a bicycle.”

 

“Oh, now that I’d like to see.” Lewis takes another swig of his drink. “You’d get your tail caught in the wheels, I bet. Never have I ever fucked someone half my age.”

 

Crane rolls his eyes and takes another dumpling with a teasing smile. “You’re not even trying. What’s the fun if you’re just giving me ones you already know the answer to? You aren’t going to learn anything about me that way,” he kicks Lewis gently in the back. “Never have I ever... used a sex toy.”

 

“What counts as a sex toy?” Lewis asks. “Do strap-ons count if someone’s wearing them?” He’s already reaching for his glass.

 

“Mmh,” Crane mulls it over thoughtfully. “I don’t know that I would count a strap-on as a sex toy. It’s pretty much the same thing as being fucked by another man, just provided through a woman- I mean, assuming your mysterious strap-on friend was a woman.”

 

“Yeah. Okay, then I guess if you don’t want to call it a toy I’m not drinking.” Setting his glass back down, Lewis ponders the next question.

 

“Uhhhh, never have I ever had a long distance relationship?” He’s reaching.

 

Crane shakes his head. “Unless you count when I have to go long distances for work, but I come home so I wouldn’t count it personally. Other than that, I mean.... Never have I ever _been in another relationship before_.”

 

Lewis drinks without thinking and then chokes. Wiping his mouth on his hand, he turns around to stare at Crane in complete shock.

 

“Are you _serious?_ Why?”

 

Crane frowns. Why? What kind of question is why? “I guess you could say I’m married to my career?” he teases, but the look of shock on Lewis’ face remains, and his smile droops a little. “I don’t know... I just haven’t been compatible with a lot of people. I’ve had sex partners, but nobody I’ve been able to stand long enough to _want_ a relationship with them. There was one other man... but it didn’t work out. After I found out I was a placeholder, a way to take up time while he waited for the person he really wanted, and then she finally noticed him... well it just didn’t work out.”

 

“But you’re so… in what world are you a placeholder?” Lewis knows he’s being rude but he’s flabbergasted. “That’s insane. So many people missed out on you. That guy should be kicking himself.” He takes another swig of his drink, indignant. “Catch of the fucking century and I’m the first person you’ve dated.” He shakes his head. “Unreal.”

 

Crane’s ears light up red and flatten back and his eyes widen. “You- that’s what- me? Are you- “ he scoffs a little laugh and covers his face with both hands. “Shut up, I’m an old man remember, I’m not a catch. Besides, he and I are still friends, so it’s not all bad. He’s basically my only friend, besides you. Whenever I need a place to stay he lends me his couch.”

 

“You’re a catch, you idiot.” Lewis grumbles, settling back against Crane’s legs again. “What’s your only other friend’s name? How come I’ve never heard of him before?” He asks curiously, dropping his head back into Crane’s lap so he can look at his lover upside-down.

 

“His name is Frito,” Crane says, immediately playing with his lover’s hair. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear about him. Since he’s the one I almost had a relationship with. I thought you’d be jealous, or worried that I was having an affair.”

 

“I mean it’s obvious he’s your side piece,” Lewis teases. “What’s he like? Is he hotter than me?”

 

Crane throws his head back with a laugh. He bends down to bump his nose against Lewis’. “I wouldn’t say he’s hotter than you. I’ve always had a thing for humans. And, apparently, blond guys who are taller and more muscular than me. I guess I have a type.”

 

“Wow, you’re absolutely fucking him. Dirty old man,” Lewis laughs, stretching up to kiss Crane’s nose. “You should introduce me sometime. I wanna meet your friends.” He tries to think of another question.

 

“Never have I ever had sex with more than five different people,” He hazards, figuring that’s reasonable for Crane’s age.

 

Crane grimaces with an awkward laugh and reaches for a dumpling, and then reaches for a second. “That’s... worth more than one dumpling,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck while he chews.

 

“ _Really_.” Lewis turns around again. “How many?”

 

Crane takes a moment, counting on his fingers. With every finger that goes up, Lewis’ eyes widen and Crane’s ears go redder. Finally he stops counting at, “Seventeen. Wait... eighteen. And a half.”

 

Lewis has to ask. “And what was the half?” He’s a little embarrassed that it’s taken him this long to ask about Crane’s romantic history, and it suddenly strikes him that he’s being somewhat intrusive. “Y’know, you can also tell me to shut up and stop asking you about this shit.” He adds.

 

“I don’t mind,” Crane smiles, massaging his fingers through Lewis’ hair. “I once bedded a pair of conjoined twins. Attached at the waist- two torsos, one pair of legs. _Beautiful_ girls, but... only one of them was interested in me. I have to say it was the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in, but I was too young and horny to care so we blindfolded her sister and she listened to music while we went at it.”

 

Lewis’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s, um….wow. That must have been awkward afterwards,” Is all he can think of to say. He’s not entirely stunned by Crane’s number – he is twice his age, after all – but if all of those eighteen and a half people were like this, no wonder Crane was never fazed by his kinks.

 

“That’s nothing compared to the guy with gills who surprised me with an underwater blow at a hot spring. That’s how we _met_ ,” Crane laughs. “I was certainly adventurous when I was your age. Speaking of... never have I ever slept with anyone of my own species.”

 

“That’s not really fair to ask a guy who’s only left his planet once.” Lewis grumbles, draining his glass. “Hang on, let me pour myself another drink.” He stands, reluctantly letting Crane’s fingers brush out of his hair.

 

As he walks back over to the kitchen he calls over his shoulder, “You don’t have to only eat when you answer a question, by the way. I know you’re hungry.”

 

Crane responds by taking another dumpling and mumbling “I’ll keep that in mind,” through the mouthful. He watches Lewis lazily, smiling fondly as he puts together his drink, his face sharpening with focus. It’s the same look he gets when he’s cooking, his expression of intense enthusiastic concentration is a lovely sight.

 

Rolling over onto his back again, Crane sets the box of dumplings on his chest. “You’re so handsome,” he sighs playfully, trying to sound annoyed. “Pisses me off.”

 

Lewis glances over, gathering the bottles of tea and whiskey so he doesn’t have to get up again. “Yeah, I can tell you’re real inconvenienced by it,” He laughs as he heads back to the bed. “Maybe I should try being uglier, give you a break from your stressful life.” He sets the bottles and his glass on the floor and leans over Crane, kissing his upside-down face.

“Anyway, it’s not fair to get mad at me for being handsome when you’re gorgeous. Have some consideration for the rest of us,” He grins down at his lover, their noses barely touching.

 

Crane’s face screws up into a grimace, and he rolls back over onto his stomach, folding his arms and resting his mouth on them. “I’m really not,” he mutters, looking up at Lewis before dropping his eyes back to the floor. “My order- er, breed, whatever you would call it- we’re a mutation. We’re not supposed to exist. We’re uglier, balder, unfortunate versions of the rest of the species. There’s a reason we can only ever manage to breed with other members of our order- while others will cross breed, nobody else wants us.”

 

He sighs and turns his face so it’s totally hidden by the shelter of his arms. “That’s why I covered myself in tattoos. I thought it would distract from my face, give me _some_ beauty.”

 

As Crane is talking, Lewis feels the smile slip off his face. He doesn’t understand - he loves Crane’s pale, intelligent, expressive face, the way his translucent ears swivel towards his lover’s voice, his soft wrinkled skin, the effortless grace in every muscle of his slender body. Lewis gently lays a hand on Crane’s back, leaning against him.

 

“I want you,” He says quietly. “I thought you were beautiful since the first night I met you. Your tattoos, yeah, but the rest of you, too. You’re probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

”

Crane scoffs into the cave of his arms, but his purring is involuntary. “I’m not really a man, am I?” he says, finally lifting his head with a crooked smile. “You really mean it? Even though I don’t- ” he hesitates, as if by some miracle Lewis hasn’t noticed. He’s never brought it up verbally, it’s been a hollow unspoken void, like if only he can keep from drawing attention to it, Lewis will never know. He finally exhales and finishes, “Have a tail?”

 

“What?” Lewis asks, genuinely confused. “Of course I mean it. What does your tail have to do with anything?” He realizes he probably isn’t helping, and wraps his arms around Crane, resting his chin on his lover’s shoulder. “Sorry, I just… don’t understand why you think that would make you any less gorgeous.” He says in a gentler tone.

 

“I guess it’s a cultural thing. The bigger and fuller your tail is, the more attractive you are. The “fox” look is really big the last decade or so with feralines. And I had a rat tail to begin with, but now it’s not even a real tail. Technically it comes off, and tails definitely aren’t supposed to do that. I mean, not easily... But it’s removable. I guess if you find me attractive to begin with, you aren’t holding me up to feraline beauty ideals anyway. Sorry, I’m just... a loser, I’m a big loser.”

 

“What? No, what the hell? Just because your species has some dumb standard and can’t appreciate how handsome you are…” Lewis trails off. “I dunno. I think you’re incredibly, stupidly, frustratingly good looking. You can believe me or not but it’s true.” He tightens his arms around Crane’s waist, nuzzling into his shoulder.

 

Crane is purring like an idiot, his face crushed into his arms does nothing to hide the cherry red tint of his ears. “Shut up,” he mutters, it’s impossible to keep the smile out of his voice. “It’s your turn to go you big dumb... dummy.”

 

“Never have I ever been an unbelievably handsome moron.” Lewis grins. “Eat.”

 

“That is one hundred percent not true, you are always an unbelievably handsome moron,” Crane finally lifts his head and rolls over to sit up.

 

“Fine, I’ll drink too then. Ass.” Lewis teases, getting off his lover’s back and reaching for his glass. “We can be handsome idiots together.”

 

“My turn again already?” Crane chuckles as he pops a dumpling in his mouth, chewing as he thinks. “Hmm... never have I ever actually had any opportunity to use the other languages I know.”

 

Now it’s Lewis’s turn to blush, feeling uncultured and uneducated all of a sudden. “I don’t know any other languages. I quit school when I was 17.” He says, keeping his voice casual. “Does that count?”

 

Crane’s eyes widen. “You dropped out too?” he leans over to look his lover in the face. “That... surprises me, actually. You’re way too intelligent for a dropout.”

 

“What? No, I’m not.” Lewis protests automatically. “Wait, you didn’t finish school either? When did you quit?” He feels like he could quote Crane’s sentence back to him verbatim. He’s not sure why he always thought Crane was highly educated – he’s never seen him read a book, now that he thinks of it – but he’d always just assumed.

 

Crane drops his gaze with an embarrassed laugh. “I was sixteen,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t learn other languages in school, anyway, I was tutored from a very young age. My parents forced me to learn German and French because of their business partners, they expected I would take over and if I knew the languages it would make it easier.”

 

“I forgot you were rich.” Lewis says, skirting around the mention of Crane’s parents. “So are you fluent still? Or did you forget them?”

 

Crane laughs. “I’m probably a little rusty, but I can still read them just fine so if I tried I’m sure I’d get back into the swing of it. I also speak Mewla... But that’s about 75% body language anyway so ‘speak’ is a loose term. I could teach you, though. It’s a lot easier than learning English, I can tell you that.”

 

“That’s Feraline language?” Lewis asks. He’s never tried to learn other languages – he’s picked up a couple phrases in Spanish, and Cynda tried to teach him basic Russian when she was studying it in her first year of college, but he’s never had the knack for it. He's impressed that Crane knows more than three. “Is English not your, uh, what d’you call it… your first language?”

 

“I don’t think I really have a “first” language,” Crane shakes his head. “I was learning English, French and German all at the same time when I was old enough to speak. I had a French nanny and a German tutor for the first five years of my schooling before I went to public school. So I learned them all pretty equally. Mewla is more of an instinct than a language, but it technically qualifies because other species can learn and speak it.”

 

“Wow. That’s kind of awesome, though.” Lewis leans his head back against the edge of the bed, so that he’s resting next to Crane’s elbow. “I guess you quit school when you left Rising Star, right?”

 

“No, I quit a couple months beforehand. I was getting ready to leave - which isn’t easy, if you recall - and going to school I didn’t plan on graduating was just making it harder to get my affairs in order. So I quit, much to the horror of my parents. They tried to bribe, threaten and even blackmail me back into school, but I got out on the first tourist shuttle that would take me.”

 

“Where’d you go after you left?” Lewis asks, forgetting for the moment about the drinking game. He’s heard a lot of Crane’s pirate stories over the past six months, but not in any kind of chronological order, and not the beginning of anything.

 

“Hopped around for a while. I was homeless for almost a year,” Crane says, idly nuzzling against Lewis’ cheek and jaw while he talks. “Lived off of shuttles that didn’t kick me off overnight. Learned how to sleep in parks without getting found by police. I was cold and hungry most of the time, but I never felt better because I was finally living off the skin of my own back. I tried getting a normal job but I was too ugly and mean and restless for menial jobs. I needed something more exciting- so I sort of accidentally fell into piracy. Started toking with the wrong sort of people, got hauled along on a “job,” and suddenly I was a pirate.”

 

Lewis shakes his head when Crane calls himself ugly, but a later word catches his interest. “Toking? You were into drugs?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. Crane just keeps sending him for a loop.

 

Crane covers his face with a hand and gives an embarrassed laugh. “I was young, I was stupid. Nip, it’s called, and it’s exactly what you think it is. Used to grow naturally on Rising Star- it was the _only_ thing that grew naturally on Rising Star- this brittle awful brown grass. It’s not exactly cat nip in terms of the stuff you’d give a house cat, in fact it would probably send a housecat into cardiac arrest or give it a stroke. But it has the same sort of effect. Used to just be a nuisance, it grew everywhere, until someone tried to burn it away and the resulting fog of fumes had an entire city block high for three days. Happened well before my time, but god I would have loved to’ve been there.”

 

He laughs, remembering the only day in school he ever actively paid attention was when they learned about the illegalization of Nip in government. “As soon as its true potential was discovered, there was a time when just about everyone was getting high. On a shit-stained planet like Rising Star, I can’t even blame them. But the Red Eye period led to a whole lot of theft, a rise in crime because everyone wanted to get their paws on it, and a steep climb in the number of murders, so they illegalized it. Now you can find it on just about every planet except Rising Star, and that’s still the only place it’s illegal.”

 

Lewis sometimes forgets how far he is from the Earth he spent almost 21 years on, but listening to his lover talk about the legal history of catnip and its effect on entire planets and species reminds him. He remembers giving catnip to his own pets, watching them tear around the room and generally act like lunatics. It’s strange to imagine that effect on a sentient species – he wonders what he’d think if he saw Crane high. Some heroine and coke addicts he’s known flit through his mind, and the idea of Crane in their place makes Lewis deeply uneasy. He decides he’s glad Crane doesn’t do that anymore.

 

“When did you quit?” He asks.

 

Crane thinks, massaging his forehead. “God... ten years ago? Not very long in terms of how long I’ve lived. It’s a naturally growing plant and it’s not technically addictive, but do it long enough and it starts to have negative effects on you. Heart problems, loss of vision or hearing, I quit when I watched a “friend” of mine convince himself he was on fire and ran out directly into traffic to try and get help. Didn’t walk away from that one. Scared me off the stuff for good.”

 

Lewis shudders. He’s never been into drugs – sure, he’s tried some things, but he doesn’t like not knowing what’s real and what isn’t. And he’s known some friends of friends who’ve overdosed, fatally or otherwise, or just plain disappeared. He leans his head against Crane’s arm, looking over at him with a serious expression.

 

“I’m glad you stopped,” He says quietly.

 

“I am too, I’d probably be dead if I hadn’t. I certainly never would have met you if I wasn’t sober. Instant bonus there,” he hums, tilting his head against Lewis’ with a smile. The drinking game is all but forgotten, but the experience of learning new things about his lover has him feeling tingly and warm, and even closer to Lewis for it.

 

“Yeah, that worked out well, didn’t it?” Lewis gives him a crooked grin. “You’re best the way you are, I think.” He reaches for his drink, settling back against the bed comfortably. “I mean, I’d probably still like you. Well, maybe. If you’re lucky.”

 

They’re quiet for a while, just basking in one anothers company. Lewis scratches Crane’s ears, Crane nuzzles Lewis’ neck, rubbing in the scent that became permanent a long time ago. They watch the neon lights flicker outside the massive windows and they breathe together in happy, comfortably silence.

 

Crane eventually breaks the quiet with a softly spoken, “Have you ever climbed a tree?”

 

Lewis laughs, wondering where this has come from.

 

“Well yeah, I mean, I grew up partially on a farm and partially in a trailer park outside Des Moines, so…” He realizes that means nothing to Crane and clarifies. “Basically I grew up kind of in the country, so yeah, I spent a lot of time outside climbing trees, all the kids did. Why?”

 

“I’ve never climbed a tree,” Crane says, staring out the window. “All the trees on Rising Star are holographic. Pretty to look at but you can’t climb them. I didn’t actually see a real tree until I was around your age, and then I had an image to uphold to all my niphead friends. And then I guess I just got old, and lost the opportunity. So... what’s it like? I’ve imagined it sometimes, what it would be like up in the sunshine and the warm breeze and the clouds. So high up away from everyone else and all the shit below you.”

 

The yearning in Crane’s voice makes Lewis take the question seriously, trying to remember the details of something he’d never thought of as a big deal.

 

“It’s… it’s kind of comforting, I guess,” He says slowly. “Like your own little world. When you’re a little kid you have to work at getting up there, and then one day you’re finally tall enough to swing up on the lowest branch, and then you’re surrounded by branches rustling and leaves falling on you, and everything’s green – the light’s shining through the leaves. And if you find a good tree and there’s a comfortable branch, you can kind of lean against the trunk and dangle your legs and read a book or talk to someone.”

 

All of a sudden he remembers that he used to sit like that with Liam, holding hands secretly in the old elm that grew over his father’s trailer, swinging their feet and talking for hours on warm summer nights. The sense of safety, freedom, companionship from those long ago evenings overwhelms him and he suddenly wants desperately for Crane to feel the same things.

 

“Someday let’s climb a tree together,” He murmurs, leaning his head against Crane’s.

 

Crane laughs quietly. He seriously doubts he’d ever climb a tree, but the sentiment is awfully nice. He nods, bumping his head against Lewis’ with a smile. “Sure, slugger. We’ll climb a tree.”


	21. Chapter 21

Mail is a pretty out-dated form of communication in the year 4277. At this point, it’s more of a formality- when someone wants you to have a solid copy of communication. Everything is done so easily via comm’s or vidphones or even holographic calls. Mail is such a rarity, even _bills_ are transferred via the internet.

 

So when Lewis comes up the elevator with a chuckled, “We have mail,” Crane’s head instantly snaps up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table sharpening Lewis’ cooking knives. He almost drops a knife on the floor in his haste to vault out of his chair and snatches the envelope out of Lewis’ hands.

 

He doesn’t even slow down with the letter on his way into the bathroom, where he slams the door in his enthusiasm for privacy to read the letter. Only one person sends him letters, and it’s been almost four months since he got a reply.

 

When he picked up the letter from the mailbox, Lewis recognized the handwriting – it’s got to be from Crane’s brother. So while he’s not entirely surprised by Crane’s excited reaction, he can’t help but feel a little offended by the way Crane immediately hides in the bathroom. It’s not like he was going to read over his shoulder.

 

Shrugging, Lewis gathers up the knives on the table, sliding them back into the wooden knife block on the counter, which is getting cluttered with various cooking equipment. He hefts his bag onto the table and starts to unload the small amount of groceries he’s picked up on the way home, sneaking glances at the closed bathroom door from time to time. He hopes Crane’s getting good news, at least.

 

Crane’s heart pounds in his chest as he reads over the words of the two-page handwritten letter. He reads it once and then twice, losing himself in the words. He’s grateful his brother wrote him such a long letter after such a long period of silence, and explains where he’s been traveling and why he’s been unable to send a letter sooner. But when he gets to the end, Crane’s heart leaps up into his throat.

 

Slowly, he stumbles out of the bathroom with a dazed expression, and he pads into the kitchen area. In a small, almost giddy voice, he says, “My brother wants to visit.”

 

Lewis is immediately torn between curiosity about what Barty is like in person, and fear of making a terrible impression. He pushes both away – it’s not really up to him anyway. Besides, Crane has a look on his face like he’s found a million dollars in the street.

 

“Hey, nice, when is he coming?” He asks.

 

“He hasn’t set a time yet, he wanted to check in with me first to make sure it was okay,” Crane drops into his seat at the kitchen table and drops his face into his hand with an embarrassed chuckle. “I haven’t told him I’m seeing anyone. I’ve only sent him two letters since we started our relationship, and it didn’t come up in either. It’s probably going to be a couple weeks before he can visit, maybe even a month- I can only communicate to him through letters. Are you okay with him coming to visit? This isn’t just my home anymore.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Lewis says. “You should probably tell him I’m here before he visits, though.” He’s a little nervous about the fact that Crane hasn’t mentioned him in his letters. Is Crane embarrassed of him? But that’s probably just nerves talking, right? “Also you might have to get a guest bed or something.” He points out, trying to ignore his fears by thinking practically.

 

“Shit, you’re right,” Crane looks out the window at the light drizzle outside. “And a few extra towels, and I should probably get him a privacy screen in lieu of any _walls_. Damn, I haven’t seen him in such a long time, it’s been... almost a year since I’ve seen him. I feel like I’m going to throw up I’m so nervous. I have to write him a letter back.”

 

He quickly scrambles for a paper and a pen and begins to write his reply. Lewis can’t help but notice it takes him a very long time to write, he does an awful lot of scribbling out, and his pen moves very slowly. He spends more time staring at his paper looking thoughtful and groping for words than he does actually writing.

 

Crane looks up and notices Lewis staring and feels his ears go hot. He frowns down at his paper, and then up at Lewis and bashfully asks, “Do you know how to spell accomodate?”

 

Lewis thinks hard for a minute, going red himself. “I have no idea.” He mumbles. He’s surprisingly taken by all the effort Crane’s expending on the letter, and he wants to help, but… well, he only got a year further in school, and his spelling, while passable, isn’t very solid. “I think there’s two c’s. Um. Why don’t you say meet your needs instead.”

 

Crane smiles up at his lover. It’s comforting, knowing they’re on equal ground. He invites Lewis to sit beside him, writing the letter with his help. He even gives Lewis the pen a couple times to include a few sentences, and they head to the mailbox to send it off together.

 

As the date for Barty’s visit draws nearer (they got a short reply the week later promising he’d be there at the time they agreed on) both of them get progressively more nervous. Crane is always going on about how his brother has never seen his apartment and he hopes he approves- he even took the time to rearrange all the compasses hanging from the ceiling so that every one with mirrors or rhinestones is right up by the window so they scatter light and colors the best. He’s such a mess of nerves that he doesn’t even recognize Lewis’ own slowly building anxiety.

 

But when the day arrives that they’re set to pick him up from the interstellar station, all of Crane’s nerves seem to melt away, replaced by childish, unbridled joy. He wakes up (and to Lewis’ dismay, wakes Lewis up) five hours earlier than they strictly needed to be up, and they clean the apartment from top to bottom (which doesn’t take much time as there isn’t much apartment) and they make love laughing and gasping in the shower, as it will be their last opportunity to before Crane’s brother departs in a week.

 

Crane is hopping from one foot to the other at the station, waiting for Barty’s shuttle to come into the airlock. He looks like a kitten, wide eyed and excited, dressed in his nicest shirt - one with real buttons - and shorts. He looks about as formal as Lewis has ever seen him.

 

Lewis himself has dressed up a little as well – he doesn’t want to look awkward, like he’s trying to impress Barty, but that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s wearing a dark blue button-down shirt that he’s actually tucked into his jeans, and he’s done his best to comb his unruly curls into something resembling order. He’s trying not to sweat while Crane practically dances around him, grinning excitedly.

 

Lewis grabs Crane’s hand, his nervousness buried under affection as Crane stands on tiptoe to peer over the shoulders of the crowd around them, trying to see the arriving shuttle.

 

Finally the airlock hisses open and a craft that looks something like a minibus slides into the station. Lewis feels his heart speed up, and he clutches more tightly at Crane’s hand as his lover pulls him forward eagerly. Here goes nothing.

 

All manner of people spill out of the shuttle and rush forward to meet with their families. Primarily human, with an assortment of species Lewis has never seen before. Crane’s eyes are darting all over, but the mounting tension finally breaks when a particularly statuesque cat steps off the shuttle.

 

He’s tall- much taller than Lewis would have expected. He’s almost as tall as Lewis, in fact with those satellite ears, he’s a handful of inches taller. But his height is not the most noticeable thing about him. Beyond his bright green eyes, he looks absolutely nothing like Crane. Where Crane is short and slender and hairless and wrinkled and pink, Barty is tall and broad, he has a splashing of fur over his nose and up his forehead, where only a small collection of wrinkles have set in, and his skin is a dark inky black patterned with milky white and smaller black spots.

 

“Billy,” he opens one arm in a beckoning embrace, his other hand holding the tall handle of his wheeled suitcase. Crane lets go of Lewis’ hand to rush into the offered hug. He turns his attention to Lewis after, and offers one wide, strong hand to shake. “You must be Lewis, Billy mentioned you in his letter.”

 

“Nice to meet you.” Lewis says, shaking his hand. He’s a little taken aback by the physical difference in the two brothers, but there’s something similar in their bearing, some of the same polite confidence. He wonders when Barty got taller than Crane – Barty’s younger, if he recalls, but the way Crane’s talked about him is almost like Barty is the eldest. “How was the flight?" He asks, and almost rolls his eyes at how inane he sounds. Oh well. At least he’s talking without his voice cracking.

 

“Long and incredibly dull,” Barty says with humor in his voice. “There is nothing fun about interspace travel, lightspeed means you don’t even get to watch the stars. Besides that, I’m peckish. We should drop this off at your place and then go out to dinner- on me. I’m looking forward to seeing the floating compasses.”

 

Crane’s ears go red, but his eyes are wide and childlike. He’s never told Lewis the extent to which he idolizes his brother, but he’s pretty sure Lewis is going to figure that out on his own. He chatters with Barty all the way back to their apartment - his brother respectfully taking the back seat of the cruiser - and the look on his face when he sees all the compasses makes Crane soar with pride.

 

“He hung them up,” he deflects quickly to Lewis when Barty praises him for his cleverness. “It was his idea. He’s the creative genius. I just had them all in a box in the closet.”

 

Lewis has been quiet on the ride back, agreeing with Crane every once in a while but for the most part just listening to the brothers catch up. This is the first time he’s ever met a partner’s family officially – he grew up next to his first boyfriend, but their parents never knew they dated, so that hardly counted. Now that Crane is putting him front and center, he blushes, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

“I just thought it’d be a nice thing to do,” He says quickly. “Anyway, the rest of the place is all Crane. Hannibal. He’s the one who got all the furniture and stuff.” He stammers for a moment, trying to figure out if it’s stranger to call Crane by his last name in front of his brother, or his first name, which sounds strange in his mouth.

 

“Don’t write yourself off so quick,” Barty says, hands on his hips as he admires the way the colors are scattered around the big room. “This is incredible. Anyway, let me change out of my traveling clothes and then we can go out. You should decide on a place while I change.”

 

He carries his suitcase into the bathroom with him and as soon as the door is closed, Crane turns to Lewis. “What do you think?” he says quietly, peering over at the door. “Do you think he’s cool? Do you like him? Is it too early to tell? I’m asking too many questions.”

 

Lewis can’t help laughing quietly despite his anxiety. “He’s pretty nice. I think I’ll get along well with him when I get to know him. Is that um, do you think so?” He’s aware of what a ridiculous scene they’re posing – both nervously wondering if everyone is going to get along. It’s a little bit surprising that Crane is anxious too, but then again, he probably would be too if he were introducing Crane to Cynda. “I’ll try not to be an idiot.” He promises, resting his hand on Crane’s shoulder.

 

“Are you capable of that?” Crane laughs, but before Lewis can come up with a snappy comeback, Barty comes back out of the bathroom. Gone are the simple black cotton pants and zip-up sweater, replaced by a tailored pink button-down and grey slacks. Crane suddenly feels very under dressed.

 

“Ready to go?” Barty asks as he slips his wallet into his back pocket.

 

“Sushi place?” Crane looks to Lewis for approval.

 

“Definitely. It’s our favorite restaurant,” Lewis explains, somewhat unnecessarily. The other nice thing about the sushi place is it’s fairly casual dining – he won’t have to feel guilty about wearing jeans and having Barty pay for them.

 

As they head down to the street , Crane and Barty start up a conversation again, and Lewis relaxes slightly. He offers the front seat of the cruiser to Barty this time, and is relieved when he takes it. The drive to the restaurant is the easiest part of the night so far, as the brothers talk quietly in the front seat and Lewis tries to calm himself down so he can actually be part of the conversation in the restaurant without making an ass of himself.

 

It’s not very crowded at the sushi restaurant – they’re eating relatively early, and since the waiters know him and Crane fairly well by this point, they’re set up in a quiet corner table.

 

“So,” Barty starts after they’ve placed their orders. He’s looking directly at Lewis, and either doesn’t notice the way he shrinks down slightly, or politely doesn’t mention it. “Billy tells me you’re an incredible cook. Did you go to school or are you self-taught?”

 

“Oh, I, uh… I’ve just spent a lot of time working in restaurants, is all. I picked a lot of things up. And I’m a vegetarian so it’s just easier to make my own food sometimes. Living with Cr- Hannibal is giving me a good chance to practice meat dishes.” Lewis is sure he’s babbling and cuts himself off.

 

“And, um, you’re an athlete, right?” He asks, resisting the urge to hide his face in the menu.

 

“I am,” Barty looks over at Crane, who is still laughing over “crannibal” and wonders just how much his brother has talked about him. “Olympic athlete, technically.”

 

“ _Technically_ ,” Crane scoffs. “He’s got four gold medals and holds two world records on Rising Star.”

 

Barty waves his hand dismissively. “I just get paid to jump. So, how are you planning on celebrating your birthday now that I’m here Billy?”

 

Crane blinks at his brother. “My... what?”

 

“Your birthday?” Barty swirls his straw in his water. “That’s the reason I came to visit, your birthday is in three days. The big 40. You didn’t even remember your own birthday?”

 

Lewis gives Crane a look, forgetting about his awkwardness for the first time that night. “You didn’t tell me about that either. Did you seriously forget?”

 

“I... I guess I did,” Crane covers his mouth with an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t really celebrate my birthday, I kind of stopped keeping track. I’ve been counting my age with the new year.”

 

“That’s no way to live,” Barty shakes his head with a chuckle. “We’ll have to do something special this year. 40 is an important birthday, you old timer.”

 

“Oh _I’m_ the old timer?” Crane challenges, tossing his wadded up straw wrapper at his brother. “I seem to remember you’re four years older than me, if I’m an old timer you’re a fossil.”

 

“Wait, Crane, I thought you were the oldest-” Lewis blurts out, and clamps his mouth shut. God dammit , is he trying to show off how dumb he can be? Where had he even gotten the idea that Crane was older? Why hadn’t he asked?

 

He hopes Crane isn’t going to bring up the fact that he read the letters between the two. Even though it was almost seven months ago, he’s still embarrassed of it, and suddenly even more embarrassed that those letters are his main source of information about Crane’s family. He should have asked about something by now, even if families are a taboo subject in his own mind.

 

“You just think I’m older than everyone, don’t you?” Crane sneers playfully at Lewis. “I’ll have you know I was born with these wrinkles, you little punk.”

 

“Speaking of oldest,” Barty says, his tone suddenly going serious. “We, ah... we have a new sibling.”

 

Crane just stares. He’s not sure why his chest goes tight. He shouldn’t be upset with the fact that his family has a new child in it - especially since he left so incredibly long ago. But he can’t help but feel a sense of being replaced. Like there was a gap in the family ever since he left that they couldn’t deny no matter how strongly they disowned him. But now that gap has been neatly filled.

 

“Oh,” he says quietly, looking down at the table for a few moments before he collects himself enough to look up. “How? Aren’t mom and dad really old?”

 

“They had an egg taken from mother and sperm from father and combined them in a healthy young surrogate a while ago,” Barty says as he takes out his comm and flips open the pictures. “They insist they still need an ‘heir’ and a male one at that, as if we’re some kind of royalty. Princessa has given birth to twelve children over the past twenty years... all of them female. And my wife is infertile, we’re still fighting for adoption, and I’m certainly not going to let them leech off my child, provided I even have a boy to begin with. So... say hello to Maximus.”

 

He turns the comm around and slides it across the table. A tiny hologram of a very small brown and white spotted kitten projects a few inches off the table, with wide green eyes and wrinkles that make him look very surly. Crane can only look for a few moments before he has to glance away.

 

Lewis leans back from the table, not wanting to get involved in family politics. He’s still listening carefully though, stowing away all the information about heirs and “Princessa” – a sister? An aunt? He can’t tell. But then he sees the look of pain flicker across Crane’s face – Crane hides it quickly, returning to neutral in a moment, but Lewis knows he’s still deeply hurt by this information. He reaches over to take Crane’s hand under the table, squeezing it supportively. He can’t imagine how this must feel.

 

“That kid is going to be destroyed,” Crane mutters bitterly, snapping the comm shut so he doesn’t have to look at the baby anymore. “Those people don’t know how to love or care for a child. Babies aren’t vehicles.”

 

“Madeline and I are going to sue for custody if they won’t let us raise him,” Barty nods. “Lord knows _they’re_ not going to, and nobody should be raised by staff.”

 

Crane feels a little flutter of hope. If Barty can raise the boy, then he’ll be able to instill in him the goodness and wisdom that Bartholme has always had. If that’s the case, the boy will know how immoral the family business is, and let it run into ruin with their parents’ death rather than take it over.

 

“What about you?” Barty says, looking at Lewis as he tries to change the subject. “Kids? Nieces or nephews?” Crane’s eyes widen at his brother and he tries to signal for him to stop before he gets too deep into the question, but it’s already out in the open air.

 

“None of the above,” Lewis laughs, almost relieved that he’s being asked about descendants instead of parents. That’s certainly a new one. He wonders if Barty has any idea that he’s only 21 years old. He decides not to inform him. “How long have you been married?” He asks, eager to change the subject before Barty realizes his mistake.

 

“Six years,” Barty instinctively starts to spin the plain gold ring on his finger. “Took us four years of trying to figure out she can’t have kittens and we’ve been fighting the system since then. We finally started looking outside of feraline adoption because we didn’t care what species we got as long as we could be parents, and we came so close to adopting a newborn vergot, but then blood ties and red tape got in the way and we lost him.”

 

“You’ll be an incredible dad no matter what species your kid is,” Crane says, nudging his brother under the table with his knee.

 

Barty only smiles. “All the grief might have been for nothing if we wind up with Maximus anyway.”

 

Hearing Barty talk about how he and his wife have been trying for a child this whole time is unexpectedly painful. Lewis is startled into speech. “It’s great that you guys want to be parents that badly, though. I hope you do get one. Any kid you adopt is going to be lucky as hell. They’ll always know they’re wanted.”

 

He raises his menu to his face, suddenly embarrassed, even though he’s sure Barty isn’t going to pick up on what caused the sudden surge of emotion. Barty and Crane exchange looks, but Crane only has to nod once to let his brother know everything is okay.

 

“You should tell him about your wife,” Crane urges.

 

“Oh, he doesn’t want to hear me keep talking about myself,” Barty shakes his head with a laugh. “I’ve already talked more than the two of you combined. How did you even meet, anyway?”

 

Crane shrinks down in his seat a little. “Oh, you know. Just sorta bumped into eachother. At a.... pond. It really wasn’t noteworthy and we definitely should not discuss it.” Lewis raises the menu even higher to cover his sudden horror, glancing sideways at Crane in a panic.

 

“I’d love to hear about your wife,” He says in a slightly strangled voice, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. He’s able to lower the menu enough to see a slight confusion cross Barty’s face, and takes a deep breath, hoping his face isn’t bright red. “Cra – Hannibal hadn’t told me you were married.”

 

Barty looks between the two of them with a suspicious expression, but going by the twin awkward, forced smiles they’re sporting, it’s not a subject to be pressed. He figures they probably met and had sex in the bathroom of a gay bar called Pond, or something. Well, lifelong partnerships can begin anywhere, he’s not going to judge.

 

They have to pause for their orders to be taken - and Lewis’ shield is taken away. “Madeline,” Barty says once their food has been ordered, with an amused chuckle at the pair. “She’s a school teacher, she teaches third grade. She’s in the- er, have you explained orders to him?” he asks, and gets a nod from Crane. “She’s in the Ocelot order. She’s about six inches taller than me, and breathtakingly beautiful.”

 

“Show him a picture,” Crane encourages.

 

“We met when she was bringing her kids for a field trip,” Barty continues as he flips through his pictures. “We were married six months later. Sort of rushed but... It was love at first sight.”

 

He finally flips his comm open and slides it across the table again. This time a moving hologram pops up, of a beautiful spotted feline woman in a white floral dress sitting in a chair reading a book. She looks up at the pair, presumably Barty was holding his comm taking video at the time, and she grins, tossing her head to laugh soundlessly at an unspoken joke. Pale green eyes crinkle, bangly earrings jingle, and she sets her book aside and stands up before the hologram loops.

 

“She seems wonderful,” Lewis says, genuinely charmed by the woman in the short animation. “You must be very happy together.” He sneaks a glance at Crane, remembering what his lover said a while ago about not being able to find partners outside their order. He wonders if Crane is jealous of his older brother for marrying someone who’s clearly not a hairless cat, and who has a long, beautiful tail trailing out the back of her dress. He’s figured out by now that a human isn’t exactly a prize catch by Feraline standards, and he wonders if Crane’s settled for him. Then a pang of guilt shoots through him for even considering it, and he catches himself, turning back to Barty.

 

“Does she come with you when you travel? I mean, I assume you travel a lot, since you’re in the Olympics…” he trails off, realizing he has no idea whether the Olympics are the same as on earth. After all, there’s an entire planet named Olympus out here, and Crane has described it as a tourist trap rather than a center for athletics.

 

“She does,” Barty closes his comm again. “I participate in the summer Olympics, when school is out, so she’ll travel with me and put her lessons together while I practice, and come to my events. She’s always been incredibly supportive and cheerful. She’s always smiling about something, and she says-”

 

“If there’s nothing to smile about, you have to make it yourself,” Crane recites the saying with his brother and chuckles. “I’ve only met her once but she seems like a real-life angel. The perfect match for him, honestly. If you ever see them together, it’s like they jumped off the page of the dictionary definition for soulmates.”

 

“That’s wonderful,” Lewis repeats himself lamely. He’s a little taken aback by the idea that such a relationship can exist in the first place, but he figures if anyone can pull it off, it’s Crane’s brother. He’s beginning to understand why Crane was so giddy and eager to impress. There’s something about Barty that makes everyone around him want to live up to his example – not in a shameful way, but because it’s clear he believes the best in everyone.

 

Lewis isn’t sure he’s equipped to do that, though. He reaches for Crane’s hand under the table again, this time needing reassurance instead of intending to reassure. If he was nervous about making a good impression before, it’s nothing compared to the pressure he’s putting on himself now.

 

Barty’s smile turns a little sad and he stares down at his hands. “I’ve known her almost seven years and the only time I’ve ever seen her cry is when the doctor told her she’s infertile. Even then she was back to her old self within an hour, insisting we’d adopt, and we’ve been at it ever since. I don’t know how any one person can hold that much joy and light in them. She’s ethereal.”

 

Under the table, Crane squeezes Lewis’ hand and rubs his thumb across the back.

 

“But enough about me, good lord,” Barty finally says with a little laugh, waving his hand dismissively in front of his face. “I want to know more about your partner. Where do you come from, Lewis?”

 

“Uh, I’m from Earth. I’m kind of, um, provincial, I guess.” Lewis rubs his free hand over the back of his horns, his other hand still firmly grasping Crane’s, drawing comfort and reassurance from him. “Cr- Hannibal is one of the first people I met here, to be honest. But he kind of took me in, and… I guess I fell for him pretty quickly,” He blushes, looking down at the table. If this was anyone else, anyone but Crane’s brother, he’d be talking shit, ready for an argument, but he’s still trying to make a good impression for his lover.

 

“You probably know how, um, how he cares about people,” Lewis mumbles, still red in the face. “He… he’s really something else. Probably the best thing that’s happened to me.” The truth of this admission does nothing to lessen Lewis’s embarrassment – he’s said as much to Crane before, but it seems more precarious somehow to admit to a third party, like Crane will suddenly realize he’s been loving the wrong person all this time. Lewis tells himself not to be stupid, Crane’s proven over and over that he genuinely does care, but he still finds himself breathless as he waits for a reaction.

 

Crane stares at Lewis like he’s seeing him for the first time. He can feel his heart quicken and his palms go a little sweaty as his ears turn as red as Lewis’ face. “You...” he starts, but he can’t find the words, and didn’t even know where that sentence was going to begin with. It just seems like something he’s supposed to respond to. With something. Anything. Anything that isn’t dumb silence.

 

Barty looks between the two of them and gives a low whistle. “Oh man, you two have got it _bad_.”

 

“Bad?” Crane’s head snaps up to his brother.

 

Barty nods gravely. “Lovesickness. This looks terminal.”

 

Lewis can’t help it – he cracks up completely at the solemn look between the two brothers. “Holy shit.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he rests his hand on Crane’s shoulder, “It really is.” He wipes at his eyes and looks up at Barty, smiling genuinely for the first time that night.

 

“Your brother’s a fucking disaster, to be honest, but I love him a hell of a lot and he’s put up with a lot worse from me.” Lewis jokes, and then suddenly realizes he’s almost hysterical at this point and trying desperately to reign himself in. _Stop laughing, you asshole, stop insulting your boyfriend -_ it’s too late, he’s already said it, and now he has to swallow his laughter and pretend like he’s been a functional adult this whole time instead of some barely –above –teenage idiot who happened to luck into an amazing partner who is surely going to be horribly embarrassed by him by the time the night ends. So much for making a good impression.

 

“Did you hear that? Fucking disaster,” Crane looks over at his brother. “I’ve moved up in the world.”

 

Their food arrives and they chat right through dinner, sharing tidbits about themselves. Barty tells Lewis plenty of embarrassing stories about Crane, who tells Lewis that he would tell him embarrassing stories about Barty except that he’s never been embarrassing a day in his life. They eat and talk and laugh and drink until they’re hoarse and punch-drunk and they finally leave the restaurant after two hours.

 

They don’t stop there, taking a detour through Little Olympus, since Barty has never experienced it. They dance to the street music and Barty buys himself a new paisley tie in a charming shade of aqua, they watch a street musician and Crane and Lewis are pleasantly surprised when they don’t run into a single one of Titanium’s men. It’s like even they have sensed the mood and have decided not to ruin the night.

 

Finally, around one AM, they stumble back into the apartment. Exhausted, giddy, and ready to sleep so they can start the next day together, Barty bids the pair good night and slips behind his privacy curtain into his guest bed for the night. Crane and Lewis crawl into bed and the cat carefully lowers the flap and even make sure it’s velcroed at the bottom before snuggling under the blankets and beckoning Lewis to join him.

 

Once they’re completely shrouded in pitch blackness, he whispers, “So? What do you think of him? Do you like him? Isn’t he wonderful?”

 

“Yeah.” Lewis murmurs, wrapping his arms around Crane’s body happily. “He’s really cool. I like him a lot.” He pauses for a moment, wrapping the blankets around them both and curling his body around Crane’s, relieved to be alone with him despite how well the evening’s gone. “I can tell why you like him so much. It’s really obvious he’s a good person.” He murmurs, face pressed into the back of Crane’s neck.

 

“He kept me sane for a lot of years when things were rough at home,” Crane scratches idly at Lewis’ forearms with the tips of his fingers and smiles wistfully. “He was the only one who was ever kind to me. I probably would have killed myself if it wasn’t for his kindness. That’s why we only communicate through letters, and he sends all of my letters back to me with his, I’d go to any lengths to make sure our parents don’t find out we’re still in communication. I don’t want them to disown him too... I don’t want him to go through that.”

 

Lewis closes his eyes, tightening his arms around Crane’s body instinctively instead of responding directly. “I’m glad he’s with you, no matter how,” He says simply, afraid to go any further than that, He suddenly realizes something else he’d said earlier that night and goes white. “I didn’t mean to call you a disaster,” He mumbles, hiding his face in the crook of Crane’s shoulder. “I mean, I know I call you that shit all the time but, not in front of your family. You’re not a disaster. You’re wonderful,” He snuggles up close against Crane’s back again, shifting until he’s comfortable to sleep. “Your brother’s a good person, but you’re mine, okay?”

 

Crane turns his face so it’s crushed into the blankets. His eyes feel hot and wet, and he has to breathe evenly through his nose for several breaths to keep from crying. “It’s okay,” he says after a moment, his voice a little thick as he laughs. “I am kind of a disaster.”

 

“You’re my disaster.” Lewis says quietly, laughing lightly under his breath. He gives Crane a kiss on the cheek and settles in to the pillows beneath him, slipping comfortably around Crane’s body in the way they’ve become accustomed to sleeping in the past few months. As he drops off to sleep, he rests his chin in the crook of Crane’s neck and murmurs, “I’m so glad you’re mine.” 


	22. Chapter 22

It’s rare that Lewis wakes up before Crane, but this morning he hears the low rumble of thunder in his dreams, and his eyes shoot open. He carefully untangles himself from Crane’s limbs and peers out of the flap of the bed, grinning at the dark clouds he sees out the window. He glances back at Crane, making sure he’s truly still asleep, that he’s not going to wake up again to find him missing. He won’t risk that again.

 

But the dark grey sky outside doesn’t promise lightning and thunder, just a long dark drizzle. So Lewis feels safe in slipping out of the bed and tiptoeing around the curtain that separates Barty’s guest bed from the rest of the room, heading for the bathroom as quietly as he can. It isn’t quite dawn, so he’s shivering in his bare feet and pajama pants, stopping at the closet to pull on a sweatshirt so he doesn’t get sick again. But he still smiles as he eases open the bathroom window and clambers out onto the fire escape, leaning back against the brick wall of the apartment building and letting the light rain run down his face. He’s forgotten how much he’s missed this.

 

He’s outside for a good long while, just watching the rain coming down, watching the sky lighten, watching the drizzle mist on his arm hair, when suddenly a shadow overwhelms him. He looks skyward to see a big navy blue expanse of umbrella, and follows the handle up an arm to see Barty crawling out of the window beside him.

 

“Good morning,” he says quietly as he sits on the iron beside the much younger man, holding the umbrella over them both. “You’re looking damp and happy.”

 

“Hi,” Lewis mutters awkwardly, giving Barty a sheepish smile. “You must think this is kind of weird.” He tries to think of a polite way to duck out from under the umbrella and gives up, accepting the large shadow of fabric over him keeping the rain away. A sudden thought strikes him.

 

“Crane – Hannibal isn’t awake, is he?” He asks, a surge of panic running through his chest.

 

Barty shakes his head. “I checked. He always hated thunderstorms. Used to hide in my bed when it stormed at night. Lots of dust storms on Rising Star outside of all the biodomes.”

 

“Yeah,” Lewis says, relaxing slightly. “I know he hates them… I didn’t want to leave him alone in one.” again, he adds silently. He hasn’t had to go through another thunderstorm with Crane since that first disastrous one, where he not only left but got sick and became a huge emergency afterwards, but he’s been anticipating one ever since, determined not to do the same thing again.

 

“How was the guest bed?” He asks Barty awkwardly, swiping his wet curls out of his face. “Hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable. It was kind of a last minute buy.”

 

“It was just fine,” Barty nods amiably, looking out at the light grey city. He’s quiet for a while, they enjoy the sound of the rain pattering down on the umbrella, and listen to a very quiet, distant roll of thunder. Barty is shivering slightly, but he makes no move to retreat inside.

 

“Thank you,” he says after a long quiet. “For being there for him. He’s always been the... dependent type. He _can_ take care of himself, but he’s always done much better when there’s someone else there. You seem to have done well by him. He looks happy when he looks at you. I don’t think he’s been really, truly happy in a long time.”

 

Lewis blushes deeply, gazing at the ground beneath the iron grating under them. “I… He’s done a lot for me too. It took me a while to realize he needed me… I guess like I need him.” He’s bright red, but a smile is creeping over his face at the same time, as he thinks about his time with Crane. “He’s still kind of surprising a lot of the time. Like he’ll be so capable and in control and tough, and then he’ll turn into a little kid, and I never know when it’s coming.”

 

Lewis pokes idly at the iron grating, still avoiding Barty’s eyes. “He’s complicated, which I guess is something I like about him, but I still don’t really know how to be there for him when he needs me. And I really, really want to be there for him. I’ve…. I’ve kind of let him down enough.” He admits, running his hand over his horns in embarrassment.

 

“The best thing you can do is talk to him,” Barty says quietly, resting his head back on the bricks and closing his eyes. “He’s a very good talker. Very mature when he needs to be. He didn’t have a choice but to mature very quickly. His adulthood started at age sixteen, developmentally, in terms of how long he’s really lived ‘in the real world’ he’s lightyears ahead of me. I’ve never even had a real job, and he... he’s witnessed people die. He knows a lot more than he’ll ever give himself credit for.”

 

He sighs and opens his eyes when another, slightly louder thunderclap rumbles in the distance. “He doesn’t require a lot. Just an open mind and open arms to match. And forgiveness. He’s always been good at fixing his mistakes, as long as forgiveness is given. He’s very adaptable- had to be, with the way our parents treated him.”

 

Even though he’s been avoiding the subject of families ever since he met Crane, Lewis decides it’s finally time to bite the bullet and just ask. Somehow it’s easier with Barty – probably because if he fucks up here at least Barty will be gone in a week. Barty isn’t someone he loves.

 

“Your parents disowned him, didn’t they,” He says quietly. “Why?”

 

Barty is quiet again, before he finally shrugs. “I don’t think there was any one thing. It was a combination of nails that went into that coffin. It started when he was very young and he bonded with our grandfather- my mother’s father. He was a military man, wholesome and serious and good. I never really interacted with him, but god did Billy worship the ground he walked on. He taught a lot of right and wrong to Billy, and our parents didn’t like that.”

 

He props the umbrella over their heads so he can massage his face with a sigh. “Our parents own the diamond mining operation on Rising Star. Our family, going back many generations, are largely responsible for the smog and pollution on that planet. I mean, it wasn’t an island paradise when our species was first dumped there, but now it’s just a nightmare. Something straight out of Tolkein, blackened skies, fire literally raining from the clouds all full of brimstone and other flammable gunk. The thing about the atmosphere on Rising Star is that is naturally cycles, so if the mining stopped, the pollution would clear itself out in only about 100 years, give or take. But if the mining stopped, our family would stop being the richest on the planet, and while Billy and I could live with that... Well, there’s a reason they haven’t stopped the mining operations even though the death toll is very high and the pollution is cancerous to everyone ouside the biodomes. Which just so happens to be where all the residential areas are. The biodomes are lovely and clean and reserved for casinos and bars and the people who work there.”

 

He shakes mist off the fuzz on his face. “Sorry, I’m getting side tracked. The point is, Billy saw the whole thing for what it is- a death trap. And he refused to prolong it. They spent a while trying to convince him, since I’d already started my career as an athlete, and they approved of the fame it was bringing them, and our sister is... useless. But not only was he doomed to be a good person, he grew passionate about the unfortunate, and started stealing money from the house to hand out to people in the streets. And then there was the constant mouthing off, dropping out of school, getting into fights, getting high on nip... He was a terror when he was young. But looking back on it, if I were in his position, I would have acted the same way, probably.”

 

Lewis is silent for a moment, trying to absorb the weight and responsibility Crane’s family would have cast on him. To be part of a legacy of prolonged death in the name of wealth and power… no wonder Crane had walked away. He tries to imagine the pain of that responsibility at age 16, and shakes his head. When he left home it was for his own good only. There was no responsibility except to his own deadbeat dad. He can’t imagine the horror of Crane’s family being responsible for planet-wide cancer and destruction. He instantly regrets all his jokes about Rising Star. They don’t seem so funny anymore.

 

“Your family… wasn’t exactly good to grow up in, anyway, was it,” He says finally, glancing over at Barty’s pensive face.

 

“No, it wasn’t,” Barty shakes his head with a melancholy expression. “Their punishments were brutal. He often took the blame for me intentionally, and I let him. It’s one of my biggest regrets. He’s afraid of storms because of me. Because when he was eight years old, I broke a very expensive piece of experimental mining technology because I was playing on it when they told us not to go anywhere near it.”

 

His voice is getting a little thicker, and he grinds the heel of one hand into his eye. “They were so furious. I was so scared. I said Billy did it, because I was so used to him taking the blame for me whenever I misbehaved. I remember them pulling him out of his playroom by his ears, screaming. Father smacked him across the face and asked him if it was true, if he broke it, and he looked at me... and he said yes, he broke it.”

 

His voice cracks and he covers his face with both hands. “They tossed him outside and locked the door with a dust storm approaching. I was too short to reach the deadbolt to let him back inside, and he just stood there on the patio, watching the storm come closer. They didn’t let him back inside until after he’d nearly been struck by lightning.”

 

Sniffling, he wipes his eyes and looks out at the city again. “I still have nightmares about it. I’m sure he does, too. The next morning, we just acted like nothing happened. But he was really quiet for a very long time, and the next time it stormed, he hid in my bed and cried and cried and cried.”

 

“Fuck,” He mutters, swallowing the tears that are rising up his throat. They’re both silent for a moment, staring out into the drizzling rain, listening for thunder and any sound that means Crane’s awakened. After a long while, Lewis clears his throat.

 

“Listen… I want to be there for him,” He says, struggling to explain. “I really, really love him. I want to take care of him, as much as I can… I mean, I know he’s able to take care of himself, probably a lot better than I can to be honest, but… I want to keep him safe. He gave me a place to call home and I… I guess I always want to be there when he comes home.”

 

  
He looks up at Barty nervously. “I hope… I mean, I’ll do my best. To be good to him. Even if I’m young. I’ll try and take care of him. Is that… are you ok with that?”

 

Barty rubs at his eyes with a little laugh. “Am I okay with you loving my brother? Well, I don’t know. How are you with litmus tests?” he elbows Lewis playfully. “I missed the part where I got to screen my brother’s boyfriend, so I’ll have to do it now. Better late than never.”

 

Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I mean, you’re kind of late to the game, but I guess hit me with your best shot.” To be honest, he’s still slightly nervous that he’s going to fail whatever test this is going to be, but having talked like this with Barty has put him at ease considerably, at least enough to make a joke. He cocks his ear back towards the apartment, listening for Crane, and when he hears nothing, returns his full attention to the other cat sitting next to him.

 

“Well, you’re open minded, I know that much or you wouldn’t be dating a cat,” Barty nudges Lewis’ knee with his own. “And you’re compassionate, aren’t you? You care. And you’re self-aware, exactly as intelligent as you need to be. Handsome, that’s always a plus. My brother deserves a babe.”

 

“Christ,” Lewis mutters, blushing and looking away. “I thought this was a test, not a rave review.”

 

Barty’s smile broadens. “Well alright then, a test. Are you prepared to celebrate my brother’s victories and accomplishments like they’re your own, and are you prepared to share the responsibility for his downfalls and errors?”

 

Lewis tries to figure out how serious Barty’s being and fails. “I guess?” He says, rubbing the base of his horns in consternation. “I mean… I’m with him, if that’s what you mean?”

 

If Crane’s sometimes hard to figure out, his brother is even more of a mystery – he’s open and friendly and disarming, with none of Crane’s occasional hard edges, which means Lewis can’t really get a read on him at all. He’s not used to people being just plain friendly.

 

Barty laughs quietly. “Do you feel willing to and capable of communicating with my brother about any issues or misgivings you might have, whether they’re related directly to him or not? Do you trust him to share your fears and insecurities?”

 

That Lewis feels less confident answering. He’s taking the questions possibly a little more seriously than he should, given Barty’s tone, but he can’t help but feel there’s a genuine aspect to this test that he doesn’t want to fail.

 

“I… I’m working on it.” He says, finally, thinking about all the questions and topics he avoids on a daily basis when he talks to Crane – the way he skirts around anything to do with either of their families, or Titanium, or the gun that’s still sitting unloaded in the back of Crane’s closet. “I think I’m getting better at it.”

 

“Have you accepted my brother’s flaws as a part of him, and are you willing to encourage him to improve upon them? Do you feel able to grow with him as a person? Are you eager to see him grow beside you?” Barty’s expression is still even and cool, but the questions seem to be getting more serious.

 

Lewis is starting to feel like he’s writing wedding vows. He runs his hands through his wet hair, flustered, trying to give the question a serious consideration. “I think so. I mean, I love him as he is, right now, but if he changes I’ll still love him? I, um. If we’re making each other better people I guess that’s a bonus, right?” He gives Barty a nervous grin, which disappears quickly. Right, he can’t be fucking around right now.

 

“I do, though,” He adds, more seriously. “I want us to stay together for a long time. If we can. And we’ve already gotten past some… I guess complicated stuff. And I think we can do it again. I guess he’s already making me a better person, and I don’t really know if I’m doing the same but if I am I’m glad, and I want us to keep… working to be better, I guess?”

 

Barty smiles and claps Lewis on the shoulder. “Congratulations, you passed the test. You now have my blessing to me with my brother. Not that you needed my permission but, well, you have it. I don’t think there’s a better match for him anywhere else in the universe. He likes to make fun of the word soulmate a lot, but I think he’s found one in you.”

 

Lewis feels a surge of relief, and then embarrassment – he’s still not sure if Barty is being serious or making fun of him. “Thanks,” he says with an awkward half-smile, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. “I, uh… I won’t let you down. Either of you. I hope.” He resists the urge to salute – it must be something about the Crane family.

 

“Oh, one last question,” Barty looks back out over the drizzle-grey streets. “If our parents ever contact him again - unlikely, but not unheard of - will you be prepared to help him get through the emotional fallout? It happened thirteen years ago, and then once more after that. I wasn’t there for him last time, I was halfway across the galaxy when they contacted him seven years ago to try and blackmail him to take over the business, and he got so depressed that he- well, I shouldn’t tell his stories for him. Do you think you’d be able to help him through that?”

 

Lewis feels his blood run cold at the mention of Crane’s parents. He thinks about the way Barty talked about children, the yearning in his eyes, and decides he can trust him. He can talk about it, just this once.

 

“I don’t know,” He says, resting his head on his hands. “I’m not… good with parent stuff. I mean… it’s not like what happened with Crane, it’s not that… dramatic I guess, but my mom left when I was 5 after saying flat out she didn’t want to deal with me, and my dad definitely didn’t give a shit about me aside from, I guess, teaching me how to shoot and do work around the house – he used to disappear for weeks when I was little, and I’d have to fend for myself for food and shit, and when he was home he’d just sit in front of the tv and ignore me. And then I left home and I found my mom again and she still didn’t care, and she’d married this fucker who hit my sister…” He cuts himself off, shoulders tense.

 

“I’m not good with parents,” He repeats carefully. “But I can… I can be there, and I can be quiet when he needs me to be.”

 

Barty listens impartially, nodding quietly. “And I assume you’ve told him all this,” he says in a tone that leaves no doubt in his mind that Lewis has not breathed a word of it. Lewis’ guilty expression is all he needs to know to confirm his suspicion. “He won’t need you to be quiet,” he says, looking out at the rain. “He’s a good talker. Better listener. He has compassion that could fill oceans. And if there’s anybody who understands abusive and neglectful parents, it’s him. You could help each other work through your painful histories of terrible parents.”

 

“Probably,” Lewis says, and sighs. He hugs his knees to his chest, running his fingers over the wet metal grating at his feet. He’s not sure how to explain the hole it’s left in him, the way he’s never going to be able to completely trust that he’s wanted, even with Crane, even with his sister. The fact that no matter how much he trusts Crane he’s always going to be looking for that sign that he needs to go. The way he still, in some dark, treacherous corner of his heart, wants his mom and dad to be proud of him. He can’t put it into words. He’ll cry if he tries.

 

In a small voice he says, “I just don’t like to think about it.”

 

“Of course not, nobody who’s been abused _likes_ to think about it,” Barty says quietly. “It’s like... taking care of a tree. If you water it too much, it’ll drown, and die. If you don’t water it enough, it’ll wither and shrivel. If you water it just the right amount, it’ll produce fruit.”

 

He mirrors Lewis’ posture, pulling his knees up. “If you talk about your abuse too much, your struggle and hardships can lose their value. If you don’t _ever_ talk about it, it will loom over you like a dark cloud for the rest of your life and it will always have power over you.”

 

He puts his hand on Lewis’ shoulder with a sigh. “You don’t have to bring it up over dinner. You don’t ever have to be casual about it. It’s never going to be easy. But if you open up those channels of communication, they’ll always stay open, and your healing process together will be ongoing. There’s no cure for the heartache that comes with abuse. Even I have scars, and what I faced and face to this day is infinitesimally small compared to what Crane has gone through- what you have gone through.”

 

Lewis glances over at him, suspicious. Barty’s face is all open kindness and understanding, no ulterior motives, no pity, no condescension. Lewis lets his shoulders relax. He’s starting to understand Crane’s hero-worship of his brother a little better.

 

“I’ll tell him at some point,” He says slowly, looking down at his bare feet again. “He’s probably heard worse.” He’s quiet for a moment, listening to the rain drip evenly onto the umbrella over them. “Y’know, I was really scared to meet you.” He admits. “So thanks for listening to me, I guess. For… I dunno. Putting me at ease.”

 

“Really?” Barty gives an amused smile. “I felt the same way. I was nervous out of my mind to meet you. I wanted your approval. There’s nothing better than being liked by your sibling’s SOs. I was afraid if you didn’t like me it would put a strain on your relationship with Billy, because he thinks so highly of me, I was worried he’d take it personally, and your whole relationship would fall apart and it would all be my fault. I put so much pressure on myself to be liked by you. It’s... very gratifying to know we’re on common ground.”

 

Lewis is startled into laughter by the idea that anyone would be intimidated by him, would work to impress him. “I mean, I do like you? You’re one of the nicer people I’ve ever met. But even if I thought you were a prick I wouldn’t tell Crane. He worships you – it’s obvious. He’s been walking on air since you said you might come visit. But it’s really crazy that you want to impress me, man. I’m pretty easy to impress.”

 

The rain is beginning to die off. Lewis rubs at the base of his horns, giving Barty an awkward smile. “Anyway, he’ll be happy we talked. He’s really invested in us getting along.”

 

“I’d say we get along,” Barty smiles, wrapping an arm around Lewis’ shoulders to give him a sideways hug.

 

They’re both alerted moments later the sound of a very long, prolonged yawn, and a sleepily called,”Mh... Lewis?”

 

“You better get back in there,” Barty gestures for the window with his head. “I’ll join you in a couple minutes. I just want to sit out here on my own for a little bit. Let my eyes unpuff, you know. Billy won’t want to know I was crying.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

Lewis shoots to his feet at the first sound of Crane’s voice. He nods gratefully at Barty and crawls through the bathroom window, stumbling into the apartment as quickly as he can, almost to a halt at the edge of the bed.

 

“Hey.” He says quietly, opening the flap and poking his head in. “It’s raining, but it’s letting up. How’re you doing?”

 

Crane’s nose wrinkles tiredly and he yawns again. “You smell like rain.... You’re soaking wet. Were you out on the fire escape again?”

 

“It’s nice out there.” Lewis says, clambering in next to him. “I’m wet. Do you mind if I hug you?” He asks quietly, heart jumping out of his chest. He’s overcome by a wave of tenderness and love for the man next to him, the way his blunted snout crinkles when he sniffs, the way his beautiful green eyes are still blinking open, the delicacy of his claws gently kneading into the blankets beneath them.

 

“I just said that, did the water get into your brain?” Crane mutters, his voice hoarse with sleep, but he rolls over onto his back and opens his arms to his lover. The instant Lewis climbs into his arms, he closes them around the larger man and pulls him down so he can start licking the moisture off his face and neck and hair.

 

“Clearly.” Lewis mumbles, holding Crane close, closing his eyes as he feels his lover’s tongue brush across his face. “Careful with my hair, ok? You probably don’t want to get sick when your brother’s here.” He nevertheless snuggles closer against Crane, kissing his fuzzy collarbones.

 

“I really, really love you, you know,” He murmurs into Crane’s neck, thinking about a smaller version of his lover alone in an apocalyptic dust storm, crying out in the rain, blown around and like Barty had said, almost struck by lightning. “I’m here no matter what.”

 

Crane’s brows furrow and he stops licking, the tip of his tongue still sticking out as he tries to process what Lewis has just said with his just-woke-up brain. He blinks and runs his fingers through his lover’s hair with a thoughtful expression. Normally this kind of thing would come out of a serious conversation, to have this kind of emotions dropped on him out of nowhere, with no provocation...

 

He thought it would make it lose its meaning. But, somehow, it means even more to him now. Lewis isn’t saying it to prove a point, or win an argument, or make excuses for his actions. He’s just saying it... because he means it. He feels his heart flutter.

 

All he can do is nod. He’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure any words can express what he’s feeling right now, so he just purrs and nods.

 

Lewis strokes the back of his lover’s head, pulling him in against his chest, inclining his head with a grin as Crane strokes his curly blonde hair. He tightens his arms around Crane, relishing the way his lover’s smooth fuzzy skin slides against his own, almost dropping his hands down to Crane’s cock before realizing, oh yeah, oh shit, Barty is in the other room.

 

“We better get up,” He mumbles, drawing away awkwardly. “Your brother’s awake, I’m pretty sure.”

 

Crane smiles and rolls out of Lewis’ arms and crawls out of the bed, padding into the kitchen to make breakfast. Barty starts his morning with a shower and comes out dressed and groomed to see Lewis sitting at the kitchen table flipping through a cook book while Crane stands at the stove putting together scrambled eggs.

 

“Your tongue is out again,” he says in passing to his brother as he heads to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water.

 

“Hey,” Lewis remarks, whacking Crane gently on the paw with a wooden spoon, “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the eggs, old man. They’re gonna burn.”

 

He turns back to his cookbook, trying to find something fancy to make for breakfast with what he can currently find in the fridge. There isn’t very much, outside of the current staples of fried fish and pancakes. He’s a little disappointed –he wanted to show off for Barty – but the eggs are going to have to be good enough. He can throw some peppers into his and some fish into the Cranes’, he supposes.

 

He glances back over at Crane and notices his tongue is sticking out of his mouth slightly, and has been for a while now. “Um. What are you doing?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at Crane’s mouth.

 

Crane’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to speak, when he realizes his tongue is much farther forward than he thought it was, and his attempted words come out in an awkwardly garbled, “M’nooathppbth- ” before he catches himself. Ears flushing bright red, he sucks his tongue back into his mouth and turns his back on Lewis.

 

Barty throws his head back with a laugh. “His tongue used to stick out a lot when he was a little kid,” he says with a shake of his head. “His front six baby teeth took much longer to come in than the rest of his teeth,” Barty opens his mouth and taps the very small front teeth between his fangs. “So when he started talking, his tongue stuck out a lot, sometimes it would be out for an hour before anyone pointed it out. He had the cutest lisp when he was a kitten.”

 

“I got over it!” Crane says, trying to sound defensive, but he’s smiling.

 

Lewis doubles over laughing, almost dropping the cookbook he’s carrying. “You… sorry, your fucking face….” He leans over on Crane, still laughing helplessly, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry, I just... I love you, I respect you, but holy shit that was the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever done.” He gasps, and stops slightly to give Crane a delighted kiss. He’s not sure why that’s so charming – maybe the look of utter consternation on Crane’ face as he tries to reposition his tongue, maybe the noise he made before he replaced it.

 

Mid laugh, Lewis smells burning and chokes, reaching over for the saucepan on the stove. “Aw, Crane, come on, the eggs…!” He groans, still stifling laughter as he scoots the saucepan off the heat. Shuffling the eggs around with a spatula so they don’t get too brown, he hip-checks Crane lightly. “I give you one job…”

 

“Blame Barty, he distracted me with the tongue thing,” Crane huffs as he drops into his seat at the kitchen table.

 

While Lewis works on salvaging the eggs, after a minute he starts to hear something that he almost doesn’t register at first, he’s so used to hearing it. The quiet, purring chatter of cats talking to one another, the broken and chirping mews between soft meows. It isn’t until several seconds later that he realizes the only cats in the area-

 

He turns to see Crane and Barty chattering at one another, whiskers twitching, meowing at each other. Just like regular cats, they’re chirping and chuffing and waggling their ears at one another. It’s surreal to see them behave so much like cats, palms flat on the table and making huffy cackling noises like a cat that’s seen a bug.

 

He tries to stifle the grin that’s rising up on his face, but he can’t. He has to cover his face with his hand and turn away from them to hide his smile. As if Crane’s normal cat behavior isn’t endearing enough. But he doesn’t want to be rude – if someone was clucking over him talking with his sister he’d certainly be offended – so he tries his best to swallow his grin and keep on making breakfast, concentrating extra hard on the toaster to avoid his immediate impulse to walk over and ruffle both brother’s ears.

 

The backdrop of chittering is broken after a couple minutes by a loudly caterwauled. “That’s rude!” and Crane cuffs his brother’s ear with a laugh.

 

“It’s a compliment!” Barty laughs back, swatting his brother on the nose.

 

“Lewis, Barty says you have a nicer butt than I do,” Crane says, twisting in his seat and throwing an arm over the back of his chair to look at his boyfriend.

 

“He’s right,” Lewis says automatically, scooping eggs onto the plate in front of him. “I have the better ass and you have the better, pretty much everything else.” Even though he’s joking, he still feels the need to make sure he’s not hurting anyone. He slides a plate of eggs and fish in front of Crane, dropping down to twine his arms around his lover, resting his chin on Crane’s shoulder.

 

“I love your terrible ass,” He murmurs, stifling a laugh. “It’s my only compensation for how the rest of you looks. I have to compete somehow.”

 

Crane rolls his eyes, his ears lighting up red again. Barty can only laugh. “He’s always had a terrible ass,” he says, kicking his brother under the table. “He used to sit in my lap when he was a kitten so I could read to him and I needed to shift him 100 times because he would stab me with his pelvis. God, he was a skinny kitten - you think he’s thin now, you should have seen him when he was young. If someone sneezed on him he’d fall over.”

 

“I dunno. He’s pretty strong.” Lewis says, setting down another plate in front of Barty. The two cats taken care of, he starts to fry up some bell peppers and mushrooms for himself, still leaning over the kitchen counter towards the two brothers. He doesn’t exactly want to get into the sex stuff between him and Crane, the way he knows Crane ‘s muscles dwarf his by being pushed into various positions by the force of his hands. He has to think about it for a moment before he continues, with a g-rated version of events.

 

“A couple days after I started staying here, I got real sick – like, the worst flu I’ve ever had in my life, and Crane basically dragged me around the apartment whenever I needed to move.”

 

“Is that right?” Barty looks over at his brother. “You’ve got some secret muscle I don’t know about? Pics or it didn’t happen.”

 

An impromptu arm wrestle over the kitchen table (Crane wins best of three) is only one of the many things the three of them get up to over the next couple days. Barty brings up Crane’s birthday a couple more times, asking him if there’s anything special he wants to do, but Crane insists he has all he needs with his two favorite people at his side.

 

That opinion, however, changes fast and suddenly when Barty does a little research and finds out that there’s a beach on the other side of the planet. Lewis seems a little excited by this news, but it’s nothing compared to Crane. He actually jumps to a squat in his chair rather than sitting in it he’s so thrilled.

 

He seems offended that he’s been living on the planet for so many years without knowing there was a beach there that he could have been visiting this whole time. Lewis gets the general idea that Crane might be a fan of beaches, by the way he stocks up on sun screen, buys a few beach towels, gets himself a special pair of sunglasses, even springs for a pail and shovel like a child. But if that wasn’t enough to broadcast just how excited he is about the beach, he won’t stop moving for the 12 hours before they have to leave to make it to the beach. 

 

Sleep is impossible the night before, so Crane winds up dozing in a sunbeam in the backseat while Barty drives them there in the younger cat’s cruiser. Which is honestly a blessing because he was insufferable in the apartment, he would have been a nightmare of impatience in the cruiser on the way there. Barty and Lewis chat the whole way there, a four-hour drive that gets them there right at noon.

 

Crane is awake right as they pull up to the pier, and the vehicle wasn’t even completely stopped before he was vaulting out of the back seat and scrambling down the sand to the water.

 

“Billy!” Barty calls after his younger brother, but he’s already well out of earshot. “You forgot sunscreen!” he shakes his head with a laugh, pulling his beach tote out of the space between the driver and passenger’s seat, hefting it over his shoulder. “He’ll figure it out sooner or later. We better make sure he doesn’t drown, he doesn’t know how to swim.”

 

Lewis is excited himself – he’s never been to a beach before, even with the time he spent in Boston, and a thrill runs through him as soon as he sees the ocean. Grabbing the beach towels and the bag holding their lunch, he sets off after Crane, laughing as he watches him bound over the dunes like a little kid.

 

Lewis and Barty set up the towels close to the shoreline, Lewis immediately pulling off his shoes and dropping them haphazardly to race after Crane. He catches him at the edge of the water, digging his toes into the wet sand and letting the tide wash over them, with an expression of pure bliss on his face.

 

“Happy birthday, old man.” Lewis slings an arm around his shoulder, grinning.

 

Crane’s eyes are wider than Lewis has ever seen them, his mouth split wide into an open-mouthed grin as he looks out across the water. His paws are flexing in the sand, his tail flicking back and forth excitedly. His ears are swiveling like satellite dishes and his whiskers are twitching non-stop. “I haven’t been to the beach in years,” he says breathlessly, still panting from his charge across the beach, and he puts his fists on his hips. “At least fifteen years. I really love the beach. When was the last time you went?”

 

“Never,” Lewis says with a laugh, wading in a little deeper. The water’s a little bit cold around his ankles, but not uncomfortable. He’s surprised by the fact that the beach isn’t very crowded – it’s a beautiful day, he’d think there’d be loads of people here, but aside from a few strolling couples and shouting kids, they have the area to themselves. He takes a few steps further into the surf, loving the way the tide pulls him out, the sand shifting under his feet with every wave.

 

He turns back to Crane, sure his face is mirroring the excitement on his lover’s. “This is amazing.”

 

“You’ve _never been to the beach_ ,” Crane repeats breathlessly. He turns over his shoulder to face his approaching brother. “Barty! He’s never been to the beach!”

 

“Uh oh,” Barty chuckles. “You’re in for it now, Lewis. You shouldn’t have told him that.”

 

“We have to do beach things,” Crane grabs Lewis’ arm, at his side so fast he might have just teleported. “I hope you’re not claustrophobic because I am burying you in sand.”

 

“Holy shit you are gay for the beach,” Lewis laughs, allowing himself to be dragged back to the shore. “Alright, dig me a shallow grave.” He flops down on the warm sand, crossing his arms over his chest like a mummy in a sarcophagus. His cheeks already hurt from the wide grin that’s been on his face since they arrived. Crane’s glee is infectious.

 

In a matter of minutes, Lewis is buried from his toes to his chin in sand. Crane kept getting frustrated when Lewis would wiggle his toes and shake the sand off his feet, but eventually he has him totally covered and Barty takes their picture together before Lewis breaks out of his sand coffin zombie-style.

 

But Crane isn’t done with him there. After Barty forces him to sit down so he can slather his brother with sun screen, Crane drags them both off to the tide pools where they investigate little sparkly trinkets and tiny fish and shells. Crane fills his pockets with twelve shells, all of which he insists are so beautiful he can’t leave a single one behind.

 

Crane hasn’t stopped moving since they arrived. From the tide pools, it’s wading out as far as he dares, and then it’s making a sand castle, enlisting both Barty and Lewis’ help (Barty’s to decorate, Lewis to destroy it after) and then it’s running down the pier to try all the pier food - pretzels and corn dogs and cotton candy and caramel corn and giant pickles - half of it Crane can’t taste and the other half Lewis won’t eat.

 

The sun is warm on their skin, there’s a pleasant salt-scented breeze, and the screeching of seagulls overhead sounds almost like music. Lewis is coming to find that he loves the beach. While Crane built his sand castle, he took the opportunity to swim as far out to sea as he could, and now his hair is drying stiff and salty around his horns, and the sun is making his freckles stand out even further.

 

As they reach the end of the pier, Lewis hears jangling calliope music, and spots a small brightly colored carousel down a side section of the boardwalk. He elbows Crane, pointing. “Check it out, another boardwalk experience you haven’t had yet. C’mon, didn’t you want to do everything?”

 

Crane looks nervously at the spinning contraption. “Uhh... Maybe not,” he says, clearing his throat and turning to look at his brother who has been tagging behind them like a proud parent this whole time. “Besides, look at Barty, he’s way too noble and dignified for something like that.”

 

Barty chuckles and looks at his watch. “Well actually, I have something to check on. For Billy’s birthday present. I’ll probably duck out for an hour or so.”

 

Crane’s ears perk up. “You got me - ? You didn’t have to - ”

 

Barty holds up a hand to silence his brother. “I already did, and I’m not returning it. I’ll meet you guys back here in an hour?” he looks over and points at the pier binoculars to set a landmark to meet by.

 

Lewis answers for Crane, who’s still awkwardly stammering. “Sounds good. We’ll probably just keep exploring.” He pokes at Crane again as Barty heads back down the boardwalk. “Everything okay? You look a little off. I thought you wanted to do all the beach stuff you could.”

 

“Well, yeah, I do,” Crane looks back over at the carousel. “But that looks... I don't know, weird.”

 

“Oh, come on," Lewis elbows him again. "It’s turning at walking speed. It’s not exactly a rollercoaster. It’s not even as fast as a car.”

 

“Yeah, but look at the... horse bits. They’re going up and down and up and down and it’s spinning and-” Crane clears his throat nervously.

 

Lewis laughs. “Look, if you don’t want to, that’s totally okay. But if you'll ride with me, I'll make it worth your while, if we can find some place to be alone.”

 

Crane chuckles at Lewis’ clumsy euphemism and looks around. Not too far from the carousel, he sees a line of changing tents for people to get into or change out of their bathing suits. He watches a woman walk out of one of the tents and licking his lips nervously, he trots over and clips the “occupied” sign over the front of the tent so it’ll be free when they need it.

 

He gestures to the carousel with his head and the pair of them get in line. The employee gives them a skeptical expression - the rest of the people in line are there with their children - but Crane has no shame as he asks for two tickets.

 

He’s not picky with his horse, he scrambles up onto the dead-eyed thing and settles with his legs over it. “Do I look like a handsome prince with a steed?” he asks Lewis with a grin as the man mounts the horse beside his. He flexes his arms with a laugh. “A prince with ink maybe? Tattoo Charming.”

 

“Incredibly charming.” Lewis smirks. He’s a little embarrassed that they’re both the only people on the carousel without small children next to them, but the thought leaves his mind as the carousel lurches to life beneath them.

 

As he promised, it’s very slow and gentle, turning at a strolling pace while the plaster horses beneath them bump up and down in what is, Lewis has to admit, not exactly an enjoyable manner.

 

“Oh god this is horrible why did I let you talk me into this,” Crane moans after only a few moments of the moving, clutching the pole. The slow, steady up-down rocking reminds him of the nauseating motion of a boat.

 

“Hang in there, old man,” Lewis says with a laugh.

 

“For this, you are going to fuck me until I can't walk," Crane groans, resting his forehead against the bar.

 

Lewis has to stifle a moan at the way Crane clings to the pole, hand clasped over his mouth. His own erection is growing, and he almost breathes a sigh of relief as the carousel slowly grinds to a halt, the horse Crane is riding dropping down almost to the ground.

 

“C’mon.” He slings his arm around Crane’s waist and helps him slide off onto the floor of the carousel, hustling him past the line towards the changing booths as quickly as he can, as they make their way towards the booth Crane reserved.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look another porn chapter~

The very instant they’re inside and the flap is closed, Crane loses his composure. He doubles over, leaning over a changing table, and he can’t keep his cock in anymore. It slips out, pressed tight up against his pants. He didn't think he'd ever get this excited about public sex, but fuck, he needs it. He palms himself roughly, resting his forehead on his other forearm, panting raggedly.

 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he moans quietly.

 

Lewis bites his lip, trying to be quiet. “You’re amazing,” He murmurs, leaning over his lover and chasing his hand away so he can stroke at Crane’s cock through his pants.

 

Crane only whimpers and rocks his hips into his lover’s hand. He pants into his mouth, wrapping his arms around Lewis’ strong shoulders as he grinds against his palm. “Oh my god,” he moans, his voice thick. “Fuck me.” He looks back over his shoulder, lifting his tail so it’s out of the way and repeats, “ _Fuck me._ ”

 

Lewis absolutely doesn’t need any further urging. He’s already pulling his erect cock over the top of his swim shorts, reaching out to slide Crane’s pants down to his knees. He reaches down to grasp Crane’s dick properly, bent over him with his other arm wrapped around his lover’s belly. Groaning as quietly as he can, he presses up against Crane as he strokes him quickly, his own cock pressed deliciously against Crane’s bottom.

 

“Oh my god oh my god,” Crane gasps, his knees buckling slightly under the surge of pleasure that renders his muscles dumb. He pants against the stand under him, desperately trying to keep his legs from giving out as he humps into Lewis’ hand. He’s not sure when his arousal went from 0 to 60 like this, but he’s drooling now and bites his knuckles to keep from shouting.

 

“Lewis, Lewis, Lewis,” he chants, muffled, squirming and writhing like a snake under his lover. His prick dribbles like a faucet on the boards, and he’s constantly twisting this way and that trying to simultaneously get more of and get away from the scorching, blinding, over-sensitive pleasure. His thighs and hips tremble.

 

“Fuck-“ Lewis gasps, rubbing his index finger along the underside of Crane’s fold, hips bucking against him. He stifles a moan, stroking faster, fingers slipping across Crane’s length. He switches hands, his right hand, wet from his lover’s cock, going to his own, biting his tongue to keep from crying out in pleasure.

 

Drawing back just a bit, still jerking Crane off, he slips two wet fingers into Crane’s hole , grinning at the way his lover presses back against him. He scissors his fingers gently and withdraws them again, this time pressing his cock carefully against Crane until he enters him. He starts slowly, his left hand slowing as well, his right hand dropping to the bench below them so he can have some kind of support.

 

Lewis increases the speed of his hips, panting, trying to keep quiet. His thumb rakes across Crane’s fold again as he thrusts into his lover, closing his eyes.

 

Crane has both hands clamped over his mouth now to keep his noises inside. He would rock back against Lewis, but he’s paralyzed with pleasure. He spreads his legs farther, locking his knees to keep from collapsing as bliss rattles him to the bone.

 

Ears flattening back, back trembling, Crane yowls softly into his palm. He’s pretty sure there are tears in his eyes. Any normal person probably would have gotten used to having sex with their lover now, but not him. He cries out like a never-been-fucked virgin every time, and usually needs to find something to bite down on to keep from being too embarrassing.

 

Sometimes he tries to reason with himself. He’s a different species. His species ejaculates substantially more than humans. His testicles are bigger than Lewis’ because of that, so of course his prostate would be bigger and the bigger it is the more nerves it has and the easier of a target it makes. But then sometimes he doesn’t make excuses for his own pleasure, he just takes it.

 

Now is one of those times. Each one of Lewis’ thrusts punches a cry out of Crane that he muffles against his palms and chokes back down, his belly filling with un-sung screams. The stretch and burn of Lewis’ cock inside of him scalds like a branding iron, so deep he can feel it in his throat. His eyes roll back, his nostrils flare, and it takes all of his self control not to come within the first minute.

 

Even though Crane’s trying to be quiet, he’s still making gorgeous half-muffled noises, each tiny cry music to Lewis’s ears. When they’re at home he loves making Crane yowl with pleasure, echoing through the small apartment, but it’s almost better to see him try to stifle his sounds now, the way he clasps his palms over his mouth tightly while Lewis bears down on him.

 

Crane feels amazing as always, and Lewis has to work to hold back his own moans, gasping quietly, hips automatically speeding up. He’s thrusting deeper and deeper, while his thumb massages the sensitive underside of Crane’s penis, wanting to keep going but knowing neither of them can last much longer. He can feel the low rumble of Crane purring against his chest, and he has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

 

The cat pries his hands just far enough away from his mouth to gasp “Lew- is- I’m- gonna- ”

 

He doesn’t need to tell Lewis what he’s “gonna.” He claps his hands back over his mouth to keep from caterwauling and alerting the entire pier to their illicit shenanigans. It only takes a few more strokes of Lewis’ hand for him to shoot all over the floor. His legs officially give out, and he releases his mouth with one hand to clutch himself upright over the table as Lewis fucks him through his orgasm.

 

It’s like his very soul is being pulled out of his body with every pull back of Lewis’ hips, and then when they snap forward again, all the light in his body is surged back up through Crane’s limbs and nervous system and it shines out his eyes. His orgasm lasts well longer than his ejaculation, his knot swelling and popping out of his sheath.

 

When Crane comes against his hand Lewis has to choke back the cry that’s rising in his own throat, his eyes rolling up towards the white canvas over their heads, feeling Crane going limp beneath him as he presses forwards once, twice more, and ejaculates himself. His hand drops away from Crane’s cock just in time to catch the smaller man as his legs give out. Supporting himself on one hand, Lewis carefully arches his hips back so he can slide out of Crane, gasping a little as his cock slips out. Still shuddering and breathing heavily, he pulls up his trunks and sinks into a crouch at Crane’s knees.

 

“H…happy birthday…” he gasps quietly, and lets out a shaky laugh.

 

Crane echoes his laugh, finally releasing his mouth and resting his forehead on his forearms. “Oh my god,” he chuckles in a whisper, shaking his head as his ears unflatten from his head. “Every time you fuck me I think it’s the best sex I’ve ever had- and then you fuck me again and I’m proven wrong. How did you get so goddamn good at this you rotten kid.”

 

Lewis blushes bright red, reaching out to stroke Crane’s back, trailing his fingers down to his lover’s metal tail. “I’m not that great, you just have low standards.” He gives Crane a crooked smile, still panting. “How’re you feeling? Think you can walk okay?”

 

“No,” Crane chuckles. “I’m going to be limping, you horny child.” He turns around so he’s leaning back against the table so he can pull up his pants.

 

“Like you didn’t go right along with me.” Lewis laughs quietly. Now that they’re done fucking he’s all too aware of the noise of the boardwalk around them, the fact that they’ve been in this booth for a suspiciously long time. “We better get going if you’re ready.” He mutters, kissing Crane on the cheek and staggering to his feet. “Maybe one at a time. We don’t wanna look too obvious.”

 

“I’ll go out the back,” Crane says, lifting the cloth of the back to expose the walkway behind the booths. “Meet you at the binoculars. I want at least one corndog for me in your hands when you get there.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

Crane is happily munching on his third corndog when Barty comes walking back up the boardwalk looking very pleased with himself. “You’re already getting sunburned,” he informs his brother as they head back down the pier together to the beach again.

 

How exactly they managed to get on a sailboat Crane doesn’t recall, but he does regret it. One minute they were doing fun things that weren’t horrible like playing in the sand and wading in the water, and then suddenly they were in line for a sailboat ride.

 

Lewis rubs Crane's back as he hangs over the side of the sailboat until they return to shore. Once they’re back on solid ground, Crane perks up considerably, hassling Lewis and Barty to buy him food and hunt for seashells.

 

It’s almost dark by the time they wind up back at the shoreline, sitting and watching the waves roll in. Lewis is a little worried about Crane’s sunburn – his velvety skin is slowly turning salmon pink, and he’s starting to wince when Lewis touches him.

 

“So?” Lewis asks, digging his feet idly into the sand, “How’s it feel being 40?”

 

“Remarkably like being 39,” Crane says, his arms folded around his knees and his tail swishing lazily in the sand as he watches pink turn to gold on the horizon. “I’d say something more profound but I don’t think you could handle my sagelike wisdom.”

 

“Sure you’re not just afraid of being out of touch with the current generation?” Lewis laughs, almost elbowing Crane but thinking better of it at the last minute. Instead he turns to Barty.

 

“Did you get what you were looking for?” He asks. He figures this is probably a good time for presents, and since he doesn’t have one (which he’s already apologized for, guiltily), he might as well prod Barty into it.

 

“I got it a while ago,” Barty smiles. “It was just finally shipped here today, I had to sign for it. It’s waiting for Billy back at the apartment.”

 

Crane’s ears perk up. He’s not exactly keen on leaving the beach, it’s been so long since he’s visited. But he’s really excited at the thought of getting a present. He hasn’t gotten a present in so many years now. He looks longingly back out at the water, it’s honestly too late to swim now anyway, it’s getting chilly as the sun slithers down the sky. And the ride back to the apartment is a long one, so he finally concedes that they can go home.

 

He falls asleep in again in the back seat while Barty gives Lewis a crash-course on how to fly a cruiser while in the driver’s seat, and lets him drive part of the way home. Four hours is a long drive, after all, and they split it up half and half between them. Driving on highways isn’t too complicated for Lewis despite being a beginner. They chat idly the whole way back, but mostly they stay quiet to let Crane rest after his incredibly eventful day.

 

When they pull into the underground garage for the apartment building, Crane is still sound asleep in the back seat. Barty loads all of the bags onto his arms and stares at his brother in the back seat. “Why don’t you carry him upstairs?” he whispers to Lewis. “Let him keep sleeping.”

 

Lewis gathers his lover in his arms, Crane’s metal tail cold on his wrist as he lifts him gently out of the hovercar. Crane stirs slightly and nuzzles against him, and a soft smile spreads across Lewis’s face. He follows Barty into the elevator and up to the apartment. He deposits Crane in the bed, tucking him in like a little kid, kissing him on the forehead and blushing when Crane smiles in his sleep. Easing out of the bed, Lewis rejoins Barty at the kitchen table.

 

“Thanks for this,” He says quietly, so as not to wake Crane. “I think he’s going to remember it for a long time.”

 

“He’ll remember it at least as long as it takes for that sunburn to go away,” Barty chuckles quietly. “You want dinner? I’m starving, we should see whats in his fridge.”

 

They whip something up and sit talking for a while, passing time until they get tired enough to go to sleep, when they hear a strange ringing sound. It’s coming from inside one of the bags they’d taken to the beach. Before either of them can respond, they hear shuffling coming from inside the bed, followed by an exaggerated yawn as Crane climbs out of the opening in the front.

 

“What time is it?” he mutters sleepily as he pads across the room and grabs his comm out of the bag. He doesn’t recognize the number, just that it’s a vid call. Positioning the screen so it shows only him, just in case it’s Titanium calling from a random number - as he is wont to do - he accepts the call.

 

Suddenly a six-foot image of a cat that looks remarkably like Crane in drag is flashed up onto the wide windows like a TV screen. She has gaudy diamond earrings tacked to her ears, entirely too much blue eye shadow on over emerald green eyes, and she’s wearing some kind of big fur ruff around her neck.

 

Crane feels a wave of ice travel down his spine, and suddenly he’s very, very awake. Now he’s less concerned about Lewis being seen, and more about Barty - but the older cat has already taken the hint and dove headfirst into Crane and Lewis’ bed to hide.

 

When the projection springs out of Crane’s comm Lewis jumps, startled by the sudden appearance of the new cat. He sinks down in his chair, not sure what the woman can see, but hoping it’s not him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Barty disappear into the bed, and surmises this must be someone from Crane’s family. Shit. From what Barty’s told him, Lewis figures the chances of this being a birthday message are slim.

 

“Baldy,” the woman says disdainfully, not really looking directly ahead, her nose raised snootily into the air.

 

“Princessa,” Crane sneers bitterly, his mood doing a complete 180 from his earlier joy. “To what do I owe an audience with your royal highness. Here to wish me a happy birthday? Did you enjoy turning forty you old hag?” his tone is dripping with acid.

 

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Princessa sniffs haughtily, looking now at her long magenta nails instead of at Crane. “I was taken on a thousand-dollar cruise, fed the most exquisite seafoods this side of the Milky Way and then I made love under the stars, twice. I take it you celebrated likewise?”

 

Crane feels his cheeks heat up. There’s really no comparing an awkward, sunburned romp on the beach and sex in a tent in public to her lavish festivities.

 

Lewis feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up like a dog’s hackles. He’s already developing a deep, visceral hatred of Crane’s sister. He can’t stand the expression on Crane’s face. But he holds himself in check, stays seated and silent. He doesn’t know if trying to help will just make the situation worse.

 

Instead of responding to her jab, Crane changes the subject. “Why are you even calling me. Trying to gloat about how your wrinkles are deeper than mine?”

 

“I’m _calling_ you, brother _darling_ because I have a message for you,” Princessa crosses her arms with a sneer.

 

“I’m your brother again, am I?” Crane spits, his tail thrashing behind him. “That’s new, or are you going senile with old age?”

 

“We’re the same age, you pinheaded- ” she cuts herself off before she loses her cool, smoothing her hands over the fur around her neck. “I’m calling you because one of my daughters has discovered you exist. How she’s figured this out is beyond me, you’ve been summarily scrapped from every mention in our family history,” she giggles like this is a terribly funny joke, but it quickly turns back into a sneer. “She’s gotten the wild idea that she wants to contact you.”

 

Crane feels his heart leap in his chest. One of his nieces wants to contact him? Another one of his family members actually wants something to do with him? He must have shown a flicker of hope or joy on his face because Princessa immediately squashes it.

 

“If she ever tries to contact you, _do not_ communicate with her. I _will_ have you arrested for harrassing her. All of my children have legally binding restraining orders against you, her included. If you try to speak to her I will have you thrown in jail for the rest of your _pointless life_.”

 

Crane feels his stomach sink and his eyes burn. “I’m not pointless!” he shouts at her, his voice trembling and betraying him. She only laughs.

 

Lewis can’t take it anymore. He jolts to his feet, almost overturning the kitchen chair, and walks stiffly to Crane’s side. Every muscle in his body is taut with anger, and his hands have balled into fists. He glares at Crane’s sister, hating her intensely. No one hurts Crane like this and gets away with it.

 

“How about you take your restraining order and your threats and fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled out of.” He snarls.

 

For one moment, Princessa almost looks startled, but her expression melts back into self-righteousness a moment later and she holds a hand to her chest. “Oh, Baldy, you’ve gotten yourself a mule, how charming.”

 

“Don’t talk about Lewis that way!” Crane screeches, the hairs on his neck standing on end.

 

“You even named it, tell me does it lick your floors clean?” Princessa giggles cruelly. “You don’t let it up on your furniture, do you?”

 

Crane looks downright murderous. “You’re lucky there’s a screen between us, if I ever see you again I’m going to rip every whisker out of your ugly face, you cunt,” he snarls, angrier than Lewis has ever seen him.

 

There’s a flicker of nervousness in Princessa’s eyes before she “hmp’s” and turns her nose back in the air. “I’ve sent my message,” she says in a hurried tone. “You stay away from my daughter, or you’ll be someone’s bitch in prison.”

 

Before Crane can bite out a response, she ends the call. All of the fight leaves him as he finds himself staring at the blank windows. He gives a loud cry of frustration and anger and crumples to the floor, while Barty vaults back out of the bed behind them.

 

Lewis crouches next to Crane, immediately taking his hand. He’s shaking with anger at the insults, but more importantly, the way Princessa has gotten under Crane’s skin.

 

  
“Your sister’s a fucking bitch,” He says, somewhat obviously.

 

Barty squats on Crane’s other side, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t-”

 

Crane shakes his head, cutting him off. “You did the right thing by hiding,” he says, his voice trembling. “If she knew you were here, you’d never get Maximus.”

 

“You aren’t pointless,” Barty says, leaning in to nuzzle the top of his brother’s head. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And, for the record, she was lying. I know which daughter she’s talking about - it’s her eldest. She’s old enough that the parent-mandated restraining order won’t be in effect anymore.”

 

Crane lifts his head to look at Barty. “Really?”

 

“That’s why she must have called you. To try and scare you into thinking it was still effective. Otherwise, don’t you think she just would have let you contact her so she could arrest you?” Barty rubs his brother’s back.

 

Crane huffs a little laugh. “Huh... you’re right. She’d give her left paw to see me in prison.”

 

Lewis folds his hands around Crane’s, trying to let his anger go so he can actually help. Watching Barty effortlessly soothe Crane, he feels ineffective and useless, and very, very young.

 

“Barty’s right, though. You’re not pointless. You’re worth ten thousand of that skank,” He says quietly.

 

Crane turns to look at Lewis, squinting his eyes to try and hold his tears back. Even though it’s been so many years, family is still a raw subject for him. He leans over and presses his face into Lewis’ shoulder with a whine, his ears flattening back.

 

He feels his brother’s hand smooth down his back, but all he can really register is Lewis’ warmth, his comforting and familiar scent, his closeness, how badly Crane _needs_ him. He nuzzles aimlessly against his chest, trying desperately not to cry. He doesn’t want to cry in front of his brother.

 

Lewis lets go of Crane’s hand to wrap his arms around him, hold him close. His heart is aching with love and empathy and anger at Crane’s family for doing this to him. He reaches up to stroke Crane’s flattened ears, feeling his lover’s rapid heartbeat against him.

 

“It’s okay,” He murmurs. “She isn’t shit. You’re so much better.”

 

He gives Barty a worried look over Crane’s shoulder, still gently stroking the back of Crane’s head. Barty mirrors his anxious expression, pulling his hand back for the time being to let Lewis comfort his brother alone. He stands up and clears his throat.

 

“I’m just gonna- ” he whispers, gesturing towards the bathroom with intent to give the pair privacy. When Lewis nods, he silently pads into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, leaving Lewis and Crane alone together.

 

Crane wraps his arms tight around Lewis’ neck, nuzzling into his shoulder. The tears become too much, leaking down his face as he clings to his younger lover. “No she’s right,” he gasps, his voice shaking. “I’m worthless, I’m selfish garbage, my brother could lose everything if they find out he’s in contact with me, he could lose his job and all his money and his family and he won’t get Maximus and I’m making him risk it all for a fucking birthday- ” his voice is speeding up, choking on his own words as he tries in vain to swallow his sobs.

 

“Shhh, no, no you’re not.” Lewis says quietly, pulling Crane in close. “You’re not worthless. You’re wonderful, you’re so good. Barty wanted to come, remember? You didn’t ask him, he wanted to visit you because you’re lovely and important and not selfish or garbage.” He leans down and kisses the older man on the corner of his mouth, trying to keep the hint of tears out of his own voice. “You’re so good,” He repeats, desperate for Crane to believe it. “I love you so much.”

 

Crane takes Lewis by the face and kisses him once, twice, trying to believe his words. If his brother lost everything because of him, he’d never forgive himself. But he’s right, Barty _did_ contact him first. He wants to believe he’s not worthless, he wants to believe it more than anything - even if for no other reason than to prove to his family once and for all that he is worth _something_.

 

But... maybe he doesn’t need to prove it. Barty thinks he has worth. Lewis thinks he has worth. Maybe they’re the only opinions who matter. He wraps his arms back around his neck, squeezing him as hard as he dares, trying to melt directly into his lover’s body. He never feels close enough to him. Like he can always press one inch closer.

 

He rubs his face into Lewis’ neck, trying to stifle his sobs. Most of them are dry, the tears aren’t really coming, but the ache in his chest has his breath coming out in strangled gasps. His sunburn hurts under Lewis’ touch, but he wouldn’t ask him to stop holding him for anything.

 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Lewis murmurs, tightening his arms around Crane as the smaller man clings to him, sobbing heartbreakingly. He blinks his own eyes rapidly, trying to ignore the tears that are springing to them. “Families are fucking awful, huh.” He says, and feels Crane nod slightly against his chest. “They’re the worthless ones, though, okay? You’re worth everything to me.” He rocks Crane gently, stroking his back while he cries.

 

Eventually, Crane’s sobs cease, leaving him even more tired than before. He crumples against Lewis, and slowly, slowly, he starts to purr. Quietly at first, and then louder, closing his eyes and letting his weight be supported by his larger lover.

 

Cautiously, Barty peers out of the bathroom to see Lewis rocking Crane gently in his arms. He questions if it’s okay to come out with his eyes and Lewis nods, so he pads across to his brother and sits behind him, leaning in to wrap him in a hug from behind, sandwiching him between the two most important people in his life.

 

“You’re loved,” Barty whispers, nuzzling his brother’s shoulder. Crane can only nod weakly with a whimper. “Why don’t you get him back to bed? I’ll turn off this damned comm. We should all get some sleep at this point.”

 

Lewis helps Crane wobble to his feet and half-carries the exhausted cat back to the bed, crawling inside with him. Before he gets comfortable, Crane turns in a circle and leans back out the opening, watching his brother toss the turned-off comm back into the bag before he starts to head for his little guest area.

 

“Wait,” he calls out in a hoarse voice, biting his lower lip for a moment. “Is it- can you...” he looks away. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

 

Barty knows that look. “Do you want me to come in there too?” he ventures.

 

Crane looks up, his ears flattening back and he nods, before looking over to Lewis. “Is that... are you okay with that?”

 

Lewis isn’t quite sure, but he nods anyway. Worst case scenario, it’s a little awkward, and besides, Crane needs it.

 

He scoots back against the soft wall of the bed, making room for Barty to crawl in. Even with three people in it, the bed doesn’t feel crowded. Crane curls up in the center of the bed with an exhausted sounding sigh, and Barty follows suit, hugging his brother and mewing quietly. Lewis lies down hesitantly, wrapping his arms around Crane from behind. Crane is purring quietly – Lewis can feel that comforting rumble against his chest. He’s staggered once again by how much he loves this man, how lucky he is to fall asleep next to him. Crane’s family doesn’t understand what they lost by sending him away.

 

Barty reaches over and gives him a companionable pat on the shoulder, and Lewis smiles. Well, at least some of Crane’s family is worth a damn. The three drift off to sleep together, still smelling like the sea.


	26. Chapter 26

When Crane opens his eyes flanked by his two favorite people, glowing and sleeping in the sunrise shining through the open flap, he can’t even really complain about the night before. Besides, Crane has had worse birthdays. There was the one year he got stabbed on his birthday, and the year he narrowly escaped a very literal gang rape, and the year he almost drowned, to name a few.

 

All things considered, it’s been a very good birthday. With all the stealth of a cat, he creeps out of the bed and leaves his lover and brother to sleep. He’s not the best cook, but scrambled eggs he knows, and this time he won’t let them burn. He’s determined to make up for the disaster of last night by making them breakfast. He’ll even put plants in Lewis’ eggs.

 

Back in the bed, oblivious to Crane in the kitchen, Lewis wakes up slowly, turning over and stretching out his arms. He feels the familiar velvety skin and whiskers, and lazily wraps his arms around the man next to him.

 

“Mmh… Morning…” he mumbles groggily, and kisses him, eyes still closed.

 

Barty’s eyes pop open, and suddenly he’s looking into the very flannel chest of his brother’s lover. He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s suddenly pulled into a hug and his words are mushed against his chest.

 

He stifles a snort, he’d been a little worried something like this might happen, but it’s not a terribly big deal. He turns his head so he can un-crush his face against Lewis’ chest, and pushes against his stomach with both hands to try and put some distance between them.

 

“Why Lewis, I know we’re friends, but don’t you think this is a little sudden?” he gasps in an exaggerated tone.

 

Lewis goes from pleasantly half-asleep to wide awake as soon as he recognizes Barty’s voice. Wide-eyed, he scrambles backwards, pressing up against the opposite wall of the bed.

 

“Oh, fuck, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I thought-“ It’s perfectly obvious what he thought, but he’s still going bright red.

 

Barty snorts a laugh, rolling over onto his back. “Relax,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s not- do you smell eggs? Is Billy cooking? Alone?” he rolls back over and peeks out of the bed.

 

“You’re awake!” Crane greets his brother as soon as he sees him pop his head out.

 

“Your boyfriend tried to seduce me,” Barty says as he crawls out of the bed.

 

Crane laughs. “Did it work?”

 

“Oh, yes, I’m very seduced,” Barty rolls his back and shoulders, popping his vertebrae back into place.

 

Lewis follows Barty out of the bed, face beet red. He crosses to the stove and gives Crane an awkward good morning kiss.

 

“Got the right one that time,” He mumbles, smiling sheepishly. “It's easier to tell with my eyes open. Do I have time to shower before breakfast?”

 

“Go clean yourself, you dirty boy,” Crane nods with a laugh.

 

Lewis crosses the room to the bathroom and has just enough time to hear Crane say to his brother, “Do you plan to at least make an honest man out of my better half?” before he closes the door to the bathroom.

 

He has to cover his face with his hands and slide down the other side of the door. Crane called him his better half. If possible, he’s blushing even harder, a small, blissful smile spreading over his face. He feels like his heart is soaring, like he could take in air until his lungs burst. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about him. _Better half. Wow._

 

He showers quickly, trying to keep from grinning like an idiot. By the time he comes back out, the brothers are bantering at the table, Crane grinning and glowing in the morning light. He sees Lewis come out of the bathroom and his smile only widens.

 

“I put mushrooms and- ” he doesn’t get to finish saying what he put in Lewis’ eggs because he’s cut off by a kiss from the younger man. He chuckles, running his hand through Lewis’ hair and kissing back. Barty smiles, watching the two of them, feeling a certain pang of longing for his wife, but he’ll see her again soon.

 

“I gotta say,” he clears his throat when Lewis goes to collect his eggs. “I’m a lot less worried about you now that I know you’ve got a big strong and capable man to take care of you. I don’t have to worry anymore about you getting lonely or sad. Lewis is really good for you.”

 

Crane ducks his head with a little laugh. It both pains him and thrills him to know that his brother worries about him. At least it means he’s thinking about him, though he’d prefer his brother to never worry about anything.

 

“He is pretty good, isn’t he,” He supports his chin on one palm, turning his head to look wistfully at his lover spooning eggs like a professional. “Best thing to ever happen to me.”

 

Lewis ducks his head awkwardly to hide his grin, rubbing the back of his head so that his wet hair sticks up at a strange angle. “Aww, I’m just here to make trouble for you,” He mutters, setting his plate on the table. “This looks great, by the way. You’re finally becoming a decent cook.”

 

The three of them dig in, joking and chatting, enjoying each others’ company. There’s an easy atmosphere in the apartment, as if all the underlying tension of Crane’s family has been exploded and sent away. It’s not gone, of course – Lewis knows the topic has to come up at some point, and he’s not looking forward to it – but he’s not afraid of it anymore. He knows he can be there for his lover without running away. In fact, he even feels brave enough to bring it up obliquely, trusting Crane to let him know if he’s venturing too far onto thin ice.

 

“This niece, the one who wants to meet Crane… you know her?” He asks Barty, curious.

 

“Yeah, I know her,” Barty nods, pushing a piece of fish skin around his plate with his spoon. “Met her a few times. She’s, ah... well, there’s a good reason she’d want to contact Billy. She’s one step away from being kicked out of the family herself. Right now she’s still important enough to be included, but she’s toeing the line. I’m sure she wants to establish communication with Billy in case they ever do shut the door behind her. So she’ll still have some family.”

 

“You’ll keep in contact with her, won’t you? Like you do with me?” Crane asks.

 

“Of course I will. I’ve become like the family Mole,” Barty laughs. “Her name is Cleopatra. She’s... about Lewis’ age, actually.”

 

Lewis leans forward, swallowing his last bite of eggs and vegetables.

 

“If you can get her to Crane, you should, right? So she’s not stuck without any resources like he was, right?”

 

He realizes as the words leave his mouth that he might have gone a bit too far, reminded Crane of things that are just a little to painful. He sits back in his chair, biting his tongue. He wants the other girl – Cleopatra – to meet Crane for Crane’s sake as well, so he can reclaim another tiny piece of his family, but he’s certainly not going to mention that as a possibility. It seems a little too close to home.

 

Crane doesn’t seem too terribly upset, but he is looking down at the table now, his tail flicking behind him. Barty isn’t troubled, he just pats Crane’s hand. “She won’t be without resources if they do disown her. She has a very good job. That job is the only lifeline still connecting her to the family, if it weren’t for her influence she would have been jettisoned a long time ago. Our family is only as big as the members who do something to help the family directly. Whether that’s fame or power or money. But I will absolutely let her know where you are and how to contact you. She might even want to come visit.”

 

Crane looks a little overwhelmed by the possibility of seeing another family member after so many years. He know he shouldn’t pry, but he’s burningly curious. “Why would they disown her?”

 

Barty sighs, looking rather melancholy as he shifts his gaze between the two of them. Lewis looks just as curious. “Twenty-four years ago Cleopatra was born as Leonidas. Billy missed the birth by _weeks_ when he left. She was Princessa’s first child, a son. Our family was thrilled with the prospect of having an heir for the company, and Princessa went on to have three other daughters by the time it was evident that her son wasn’t going to remain her son. Leo became Cleo when she was ten years old, and Princessa continued having child after child, trying to produce another son, but... well, it’s 11 girls later and she’s given up.

“Our parents think Cleo  _cursed_ Princessa’s womb, that because she was a defective boy she put some kind of poison in her mother before she was born. It’s all a load of bullshit, but she’s heard whispers about her behind her back for basically her whole life. So I imagine when she learned there was another family member who had been disowned...” he shrugs.

 

Lewis feels the same impotent rage of last night coursing through his body. He hadn’t expected to hate Crane’s family quite this passionately right off the bat, and yet, everything he hears about them makes him angrier. Imagine blaming some poor kid for an accident of birth like that, and worse, blaming her for a lack of male heirs – it’s so medieval sounding.

 

“You’re so much better off without these assholes,” He mutters to Crane, standing and collecting their plates. He stalks over to the sink and starts washing furiously, trying to ignore his own superfluous anger. It’s not his business. Or, it’s sort of his business, but only tangentially, and he doesn’t want to be telling Crane how to act, how to feel.

 

“He’s right,” Barty says when Crane watches Lewis walk away with a searching expression. “The only people they want in the family are people who benefit that family.” he puts his hand on Crane’s and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “Benefiting that family is the _last_ thing you want to do.”

 

Crane looks back down at the table with a sigh, his ears flattening back. “You’re probably right,” he mutters, scrubbing his free hand over his face. “Sometimes I just miss having a full family.”

 

“You’ve got me,” Barty reminds him. “You’ve got Madeline. You’ll have Maximus, and Cleo. You have Lewis. Someday the two of you might have kids of your own.”

 

Crane’s ears light up bright red and he looks over at Lewis, and then quickly out the window before they can accidentally make eye contact.

 

Lewis ducks his head again, his anger sidetracked by the idea of a kid with Crane. The thought is equal parts attractive and horrifying – he’s terrified of turning out like his own parents, or worse, like Cynda’s dad – either neglectful or outright abusive. He knows he has a temper, and he knows he has a long history of running away when he’s needed most. Crane, he’s sure, would be an amazing father – patient, kind, loving – but as for himself, he’s not so sure.

 

But still, there’s some part of him that can picture the two of them holding a baby together, taking turns giving the kid a ride to school, growing old together and raising a kid between them… he shakes his head, telling himself not to get too ahead of himself. They’ve been dating for half a year. There’s never any guarantees. He returns to scrubbing at the plates, pretending like he didn’t hear Barty’s words at all.

 

Silence hangs like an anchor in the room for a while. The only sound is Lewis’ scrubbing and the running water. And then, as if struck by lightning, Barty sits up straight. “You fell asleep last night so I didn’t get to give you your present,” he says. “That should pick up your mood.”

 

Crane sits up straighter, reminded suddenly about his birthday. His thoughts almost stray into the disastrous end to the previous perfect day, but he stops them short before they get the chance. “I forgot,” he says, trying not to sound overly excited. “Do you... I mean, uh, where is it?”

 

Barty laughs and gets up from the table. “It’s downstairs. Lewis, you’re probably going to want to come too.”

 

Lewis and Crane exchange looks while Barty heads over to the elevator. Crane shrugs, he has no idea what this present could be. They follow him into the elevator and aren’t any less confused when he hits the button for the garage beneath the building. Had he left it in the car? Was Crane’s present in the car the whole way home and he slept instead of opening it?

 

But then Barty leads them past Crane’s cruiser, to the end of the parking lot. Standing in front of a longer, sleeker hovercar, Barty pulls out a set of keys, and with the push of a button, the car bleeps and the lights come on. Crane’s eyes widen in shock as he pads cautiously closer to the car, like if he moves too quickly his brother will laugh and tell him it’s a joke.

 

Circling to the side, Crane sees a familiar symbol on the side of the car, a silver planet with three rings around it beside a check mark. His eyes go even wider, he sucks in a gasped “No,” and looks up at Barty. Barty just nods with a smile.

 

Crane doesn’t make a sound, he can’t even breathe as he looks back down at the symbol to make sure he really saw it. His knees feel weak, and he leans back against the car behind him for support. He covers his mouth with both hands, his heart pounding.

 

Lewis has to admit, he’s a little lost as far as the significance of the symbol on the hovercar, but even he’s able to appreciate the difference between this sleek, beautiful machine and Crane’s current boxy, tiny, bright red vehicle. He wanders around the front, admiring the lines of the car, imagining, with a slight stab of jealousy, how incredibly fun this would be to drive. He doesn’t know much about cars, even less about hovercars, but he can tell a sports car when he sees one.

 

“Wow,” He murmurs, running his hand over the hood. “Crane, this thing is awesome.”

 

When he looks up at Crane, he sees tears in the cat’s eyes, and his smile disappears. “This- this is- ” Crane gasps, looking up at his brother. “ _Unbelievably expensive_.”

 

“I saved up for it,” Barty says with a smile. “I thought it would do you some good.”

 

Crane looks back over to Lewis, nearly hyperventilating, and hurriedly explains when he sees the worried expression on his face. “It’s... a Polaris Explorer. It’s... the engine is self-sustaining for fifteen years. It runs on antimatter... and you never have to put gas in it. With this, I... I can cut out gas costs on my jobs with Titanium, which is always at least 75% of any money I make...” he trails off, collapsing back against the car behind him and recovers his mouth for a moment before continuing with a shaking voice. “With this I might actually have a chance of paying off my debt, of being... free.”

 

Barty opens his arms, and Crane rushes into a hug without hesitation, squeezing his brother as tight as he can.

 

Lewis leans back against the car, feeling his own heart racing in sympathy with Crane. He gives Barty a stunned, grateful look, mouthing “Thank you” at him as he retreats a little, giving the two brothers space.

 

“I can’t ever pay you back for this,” Crane says, his voice muffled into Barty’s chest as he squeezes him until his arms hurt.

 

“Pay me back with your freedom,” Barty rubs his brother’s back. “I want you to visit me someday.”

 

Crane only laughs bitterly and nods into his brother’s shoulder. He turns, aware of Lewis, and suddenly breaks off of Barty so he can gather Lewis up in a hug. “If this works, I could pay off my debt within a few years and we can get off this fucking planet,” he tells him, gripping his shirt hard. “We can go somewhere, anywhere else- back to Earth, even. I’d go to Earth with you.”

 

Lewis grins as Crane throws his arms around him, stroking the back of his head gently.

 

“That’d be amazing,” He says quietly, thinking about his promise weeks ago to climb a tree with Crane. And Earth means… Cynda. Which could be wonderful, or horrible, but the fact that it’s suddenly a possibility after all this time is a little overwhelming. He turns his thoughts in a different direction.

 

“We could go anywhere. You could show me the entire galaxy.”

 

“All the places I went when I was a pirate,” Crane says excitedly, shaking Lewis’ shirt in his hands. “This thing’s battery doesn’t need to be replaced for _fifteen years_ and it has warp capabilities! Do you know how fast warp is? It’s really, really fast!”

 

He’s babbling like a child, but he’s so excited he’s shaking from head to toe. The idea of finally being free of Titanium has him euphoric. He knows he has tears in his eyes, he knows he’s been doing a lot of crying, but if there’s anything worth getting emotional over it’s this.

 

“I have no idea,” Lewis admits, laughing, hugging Crane tight. His lover’s excitement is catching, and he grins over at Barty. If he’d given him a grateful look before it’s nothing compared to the one he gives now.

 

“Better not crash it.” He teases gently, resting his chin on the top of Crane’s head. Crane moans at the thought and rubs his face against Lewis’ chest.

 

He lifts his head and looks back over his shoulder past Barty to where his old cruiser is parked, and then back to Lewis. “Guess who just got his own mode of transportation,” he says, tapping Lewis’ chest with a finger. “I’m gonna have to teach you how to drive a cruiser.”

 

Lewis shakes his head, backing up just a little. “Oh, no, no, I couldn’t… you should sell it, pay off your debts… I don’t need it, I mean, I can walk to my job…”

 

Crane throws his head back with a laugh. “That thing is fifteen years old,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d get a paltry few hundred bucks for it, nothing in the face of my debt. You need it more than I need a thousand dollars. It’s your freedom, you won’t have to rely on me to get you places anymore.”

 

Blushing, Lewis rubs at the base of his horns, hunching his shoulders awkwardly. “Thanks,” He mutters, figuring it’s useless to argue. He doesn’t say that his own freedom has ceased to be an issue – that he’s felt free ever since Crane gave him the key to his apartment.

 

“Anyway,” he says quickly, changing the focus of the conversation, “You probably didn’t notice, since you were asleep, but I drove us at least part of the way home last night. Barty gave me some tips. So I’m ready to go, probably.”

 

“Oh man, you drove a hovercraft once, I bet you’re an expert now,” Crane says, patting Lewis on the chest giddily. He looks back over at Barty. “You realize we have to go for a ride, right now, right?”

 

“I figured as much,” Barty laughs with his hands on his hips, and they all pile into the cruiser.

 

It rides like a dream, gliding through the streets and then higher into the sky, flying through the air. They pass through clouds together, Crane gleefully mentioning that his old cruiser hasn’t been able to fly through the air like this in years. They spend most of the day in the cruiser before stopping at an old-fashioned drive-in theater. Barty leaves the cruiser to go get them food, giving Crane just the amount of time he needs to give Lewis a quick and dirty blow in the back seat, and they cut it so close that Lewis doesn’t even have his jeans buttoned all the way when Barty gets back. Barty asks what Crane is grinning about, but he just says he’s happy to be with his favorite people. Luckily, Barty doesn’t see the way Lewis is blushing.

 

Crane thinks nothing can possibly ruin this day. But then he gets home and finds three separate voicemails from Titanium himself demanding Crane’s presence the next morning for a 24-hour job, non-negotiable.

 

Initially, Crane had asked Titanium for just this week off of work - the first time he ever asked off work - so he could be with his brother. Titanium reluctantly agreed to let him skip coming in for a week under the conditions that if he needed him for a specialized job, Crane would do it without argument.

 

Crane had hoped beyond all hope he would make it through the week without being called. But now, having missed _three_ calls from Titanium, there’s absolutely no chance of negotiating his way out of it. With a heavy heart over the fact that he won’t be able to see his brother off when he leaves the next day, Crane gives Barty a very lengthy and heartfelt goodbye that next morning, hugging the breath out of him and making him promise not to wait another seven years before visiting. And then he has to go.

 

Barty spends the day teaching Lewis how to drive, but they don’t do much else. It doesn’t seem right to have any fun without him. They spend the rest of the day indoors just chatting, but even the conversation is stale and bittersweet. They both know how hard it is on Crane to not be able to say goodbye and watch his brother’s craft disappear into deep space, how hard it will be on him to come home to his brother already gone.

 

Lewis is forced to see Barty off alone. He doesn’t stay at the station to watch the craft slip away. 


	27. Chapter 27

Crane comes home the following morning with a bruise over his collarbone to match the one on his cheekbone, and a sorrowful expression. He falls directly into bed, waking Lewis up in the process, and flops out over him with a quiet, mournful sound.

 

Lewis curls around his partner almost before he fully awakens and registers the bruise on Crane’s face. He squeezes his own eyes shut and hugs Crane tight, kissing the side of his mouth, nuzzling into his back carefully, afraid of reawakening any injuries he can’t see.

 

“Barty says he loves you,” He mutters into Crane’s neck, hoping like hell he isn’t going to make it any worse than it is. “He misses you already. He’s coming back soon. And I love you too.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Crane mumbles sarcastically, turning over so he can curl his face into Lewis’ chest. He rubs his whiskers into Lewis’ neck, giving himself comfort in rubbing his scent into his lover. That scent hardly can ever be washed away anymore, but he continues to reapply it carefully with love.

 

They lay in silence for a time, Crane’s melancholy and broken purring is the only sound in the domed bed. When Crane finally does speak up again, his voice is tired. “I know I shouldn’t feel like he abandoned me, I know he didn’t, I had to go on a job, I know he didn’t, I left not him- ” he whispers until his voice cracks and he presses his face tighter against Lewis. “Selfishly I wished he’d extend his visit one more day but that’s stupid, he bought it ahead of time, you can’t change a round trip ticket cause it’s already half used up and he paid to come out here with his own money when he didn’t have to I’m just a giant toddler throwing a messy tantrum.”

 

Lewis squeezes his eyes closed tighter against the angry tears threatening. He draws Crane in against his chest, wrapping his arms around his lover’s neck, biting the inside of his cheek until he’s able to say what he wants without the stream of vitriol against Crane’s family that’s his first instinct.

 

“You… you know he’s not like that,” He says, his voice hesitant, still afraid to intrude where he’s not wanted. “He’s not… he wanted to stay. It’s not… easy to stay with someone you love, sometimes. Even when it’s all you want to do.” Now it’s Lewis’s turn for his voice to crack, and he plunges on, hoping desperately that Crane didn’t hear it. He ducks his head, leveling his forehead between Crane’s soft ears.

 

“He wanted to stay. You didn’t drive him off. You didn’t do anything wrong, ever.” He states as clearly as he can.

 

Crane’s breath wavers in his nose, but he manages to keep from tearing up, just barely. “You’re a really wonderful boyfriend,” he whispers, his breath hot on Lewis’ chest. “While you were showering the other day, Barty told me he would be proud to call you brother-in-law some day. He approves of you so much... and I used to think that if he didn’t approve of someone, I wouldn’t be able to be with them, but... if he didn’t approve of you, I’d be with you anyway. I’ve never felt that way about anybody before.”

 

Lewis almost flinches, he’s so unaccustomed to hearing thing like this. He can’t figure out what to do with this information. His heart jumps, his chest hitches with emotion, but he can’t understand what he’s meant to say. He’s never had anyone say anything like this to him before. He’s so used to barely hanging on to a relationship by the skin of his teeth, used to apologizing and being reluctantly forgiven and turned away from and, in the end, when he’s disappointed them enough, being told to leave.

 

Approval from anyone, let alone a partner and his brother, is so unexpected that he can’t speak. Instead, he takes a deep, almost sobbing breath, and clings tight to Crane. “Thanks,” He mutters eventually, inadequately.

 

Crane gives a breathy laugh and crawls out over Lewis, pushing him over onto his back, and starts to groom him. Licking his face, washing over his neck, down to his shoulders, back up to his ears, the bristles of his tongue tickle inside the long shells and the purring in his chest is loud against his lover’s chest as he cleans his forehead and his hairline and back down to his chin.

 

The grooming turns into kisses, little licking kisses against Lewis’ tongue and teeth, his tail swaying lazily over him. God, he loves this man. He opens his eyes, pupils lazy slits, and he smiles and licks the tip of Lewis’ nose.

 

Lewis finally opens his eyes and settles back against the cushions, relaxing slowly, letting his hands creep down towards Crane’s hips as the older man licks delicately at his face. “I missed you,” He murmurs, leaning up to kiss Crane’s small, wrinkled muzzle. The sensation of his lover’s velvet skin against his never fails to electrify him, the same with his rough, sensitive tongue. He smiles slowly, reaching up to stroke Crane’s back, trailing his fingers down his spine to the base of his cold metal tail.

 

Crane’s back arches, curving to follow the path of Lewis’ hand as he pets him, and he bumps his forehead against his lover’s chin before resuming his earlier grooming. “You need to shave,” he comments with a smile, nuzzling his cold nose into Lewis’ pulse. “Your face isn’t supposed to scratch my tongue, it goes the other way around, this is the natural order of things you hairy man you’re not allowed to have more fur than me.”

 

Lewis is startled into laughter, wrapping his arms tighter around Crane’s slim body. “Like that’s hard to do, baldy,” He teases, still stroking Crane’s back as he leans his head to the side to better allow Crane’s soft muzzle access to his neck.

 

He doesn’t understand why Crane stiffens against him, drawing back momentarily, until he thinks for half a second about his words. The memory of Crane’s awful bitch sister comes flooding back. And what Crane told him when he was first telling him about names – “My sister used to call me ‘Baldy’.” Oh, fuck.

 

Crane’s mouth draws into a frown and he swallows hard, sitting up on Lewis’ hips and looking away. He doesn’t want to totally shun Lewis for a mistake... it was a mistake, it had to be. His ears flatten a bit and his tail twitches irritably from side to side behind him. He’s not sure if he should say something.

 

“I’m... gonna go take a shower,” he mutters, rolling sideways off Lewis’ lap and crawling towards the opening of the bed.

 

Lewis winces, fighting himself inside his head – every instinct he’s developed over 21 years of self protection is telling him to just let Crane go, not speak up, stay quiet and stay safe, don’t re-open old wounds. But Barty told him Crane was best at talking. And he doesn’t want Crane to hurt like this on his account anymore. He sits up and reaches out ineffectively for his lover as he’s exiting the bed.

 

“Crane- “ His voice come out strangled, and he swallows hard, trying to get himself under control, trying to slow down his rapidly beating heart. “I… I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m a fucking idiot. If you need space, I get it, and I’ll leave you alone, but…” He trails off, dropping his outstretched hand. With serious effort, he manages to say “If you want to talk….”

 

Crane freezes with his legs already out the opening, his bottom suspended an inch off the bed, and he sits back down. His tail flops lifelessly against the bed and his eyes widen as his whiskers droop. He’s quiet for a moment, looking down at his paws.

 

“ _You_ want to talk?” he asks softly, his ears twisting back against his head. “Since when?”

 

Lewis stares down at the blankets beneath his feet. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to talk – he wants to leave this conversation in the background forever, he doesn’t ever want to hear the specifics of Crane’s family. He knows it’s selfish, that he should be better, he should care without being terrified, but… well, at the end of the day, he’s not. He’s a coward about families, always has been. But he promised he’d try to get better. And he wants to keep that wounded look off Crane’s face.

 

“I… I’m sorry I haven’t… really been open to it before.” He says slowly, every word an effort. His hands have clenched into fists with the effort of staying calm, of not running away. “You deserve better. So… so if you want to tell me, I’m listening. I can’t say I’ll… I’m not gonna be good at it but I’m listening.”

 

 _And I love you. Even if you don’t believe it,_  he thinks, but doesn’t say, swallowing the bitterness stabbing at his heart. He’s trying to be better here. Accusing Crane after hurting him isn’t exactly going to help.

 

Crane’s head is spinning. Nobody has ever actually asked him about his family. Even the few friends he has have never brought it up, even if they know he has bad blood with his family. He takes a deep breath in through his nose. He appreciates Lewis wanting to “be better” (although that’s relative since he thinks privately that Lewis is practically perfect) but he doesn’t even know where to start.

 

He supposes it would be right to start at the very beginning. “She’s my twin sister,” he says, pulling his legs back up into the bed and hugging them against his chest. “She was born seven minutes before me. Always held it over my head, saying she was older than me so she was the boss of me. She always wore wigs when she was young and convinced me that she’d grown hair naturally and that I was a freak for being bald, nevermind the fact that the rest of my family had never grown this mysterious hair. She’d tease me about it sometimes in front of my parents or my brother and... they’d just laugh at her antics instead of telling me that it was a wig. I didn’t find out until I was eleven. I was so hurt and angry that nobody had ever told me, so I burned all her wigs... and that was the first time my father ever whipped me with a belt. I had welts for three days.”

 

Lewis hates this already. He can’t bring himself to reach out to Crane, tucking himself against the wall of the bed instead, both of them curled up hugging their knees protectively. He forces himself to breathe evenly, pushing down his anger, pushing down his instinct to run. It’s not even that he identifies particularly with Crane’s experience – he was raised as an only child and never beaten – but he’s terrified of knowing specifics of how Crane was hurt, and even more terrified of his impulse to hurt back – terrified that what happened with Cynda’s dad will happen again. But he holds himself in place, because he loves Crane. Because despite all that, he wants to know him and his history. He wants to listen, even if it’s awful and makes him want to burn Crane’s entire family down.

 

He tries to keep an even expression, but at the mention of Crane’s whipping he winces slightly. When Crane looks over at him, he clears his throat. “Okay,” He croaks, knowing that’s not nearly enough, telling himself to go comfort his damn partner like he should, go care for him like a real lover would. He can’t force himself to move yet.

 

“It’s not like I was beaten often,” Crane says with a sigh, his tail thumping heavily on the bed beside him every few seconds. “Not often enough for it to be considered abuse. My father is, and always has been a very portly man... easy to outrun. Most of the times they just withheld meals from me. Which was dangerous enough considering what a stick-thin kitten I was. Barty would sneak me food sometimes when it had been a few days in a row, but I was always afraid of getting him in trouble. I preferred the beatings to the starving, the quick burst of pain was easier to get through than the slow gnawing of hunger. I’m so used to it by now I barely feel it anymore.”

 

Lewis nods, feeling a guilty pang in his heart for every time he teased Crane about not eating. Like so many of his jokes, once he finds out the reason, it’s not exactly funny anymore. He shifts uncomfortably, almost reaching his hand out to take Crane’s, but stopping just short of it. He doesn’t know why. He wants to be with him, to hold him, tell him he loves him. But he’s paralyzed, listening to him.

 

Crane continues to curl up tighter and smaller as he speaks. “I was a scapegoat in my family. If something went wrong, even if I wasn’t there, I could reasonably be blamed. I missed many meals a week, most of the time. Eating dinner became a luxury, I grew to never anticipate it and always be thankful when I had it. My family was comfortable blaming me for just about anything from the power going out to things going missing, even though we had a staff of over 100 people,” he tucks his head in and tugs anxiously at his ears. The more he talks about it the harder it gets.

 

He sniffles slightly and looks out through the opening into the early morning grey clouds. “I was never told by any of my family members ‘I love you.’ Not by my father, certainly not by my mother. My sister despised me and my brother... well, he’s better at showing it than saying it. I was never close enough to any of the staff to hear it, none of my friends ever told me, and I was never in a real relationship until you so I didn’t hear it from past girlfriends or boyfriends. When you said it the first time... and every time you say it since, I feel almost sick- but in a good way. I don’t know. It’s lurching, to hear it and know it’s directed at me, on purpose. Six months later and I’m still not used to it. Wakes up the butterflies in my stomach every time you say it.”

 

Lewis squeezes his eyes shut, his fingernails digging into his palms. This shouldn’t hurt – this should make him happy, this should make him proud. Instead it just makes him feel sick. Crane doesn’t deserve this – no one does – but least of all Crane.

 

“I shouldn’t have been the first to tell you,” He says hoarsely, eyes still tightly closed.

 

“I’m glad it was you,” Crane extends one paw, to brush it against Lewis’ foot before drawing his knee back up with the other. “Instead of someone who didn’t mean it.”

 

He rests his forehead on his knees, trying to regain his composure before he continues. “It didn’t really occur to me to leave for a long time. When my sister and I were fifteen, she left the family because she got married to a man twice her age. Dropped out of school and immediately started having children. Our parents were so goddamn proud of her. Found out years later she married our third cousin, a fat rich cornish rex named Reginald of all things. I only met him once at my sister’s wedding since I got dragged along. He slapped me at the reception when I accidentally stepped on Princessa’s dress. My parents immediately apologized to him while an employee at the reception had to get me ice because he almost fractured my cheekbone. Skinny kid, remember?”

 

His voice has been shaking for a while now, but he struggles on. “The last straw, when I realized I had to get out, was a few months later when I was being blamed for something I didn’t do, my mother threw a knife at me in the kitchen while she was chopping mint,” he lifts his arm to show off a tattoo of a blackbird in flight, an old and faded tattoo just barely covering a raised scar only a couple inches long. “First tattoo I ever got was to cover up this nightmare. Cut me, would have stabbed me if I didn’t jump aside, and she blamed me, telling me that if I had just shut up and accepted I’d done something wrong, I wouldn’t have pushed her into throwing the knife. My father came and comforted my crying mother, wailing about how she had a monster of a son... and I stood there bleeding and I asked if I could go to the hospital, but my father forbid it. I guess he figured I might tell them what happened, and they’d... I don’t know, get in trouble or something. Heaven forbid child services take away their abuse sponge.”

 

Lewis’s jaw is clenched so tight his teeth ache. He feels ill when he sees the scar on Crane’s arm, forcing himself not to turn away. The scar itself isn’t so bad – he’s seen lots worse, especially on Crane’s body – but the story accompanying it makes him want to scream. He’d give anything to have Crane’s mother’s neck between his hands –

He stops that train of thought dead, shuddering.

 

“And then you left?” He hates the gruff way his voice comes out, like he’s done with the conversation, like he’s cutting Crane off. But it’s the only way he can talk without crying or hitting something – someone – and he can’t exactly do either right now. All he can do is grind his teeth and scream at himself to move, to go to his lover, go, tell him it’s okay already, reassure him even though there’s not a damn thing he can do to make it better.

 

“Not yet,” he shakes his head with a sigh, turning his burning cheek against his forearms to look out the windows. “A few days after that incident, the cut got infected. It was turning black, so I asked again to go to the hospital, but my father told me to suck it up, and I couldn’t go without them since we lived up on a mountain in the middle of the desert and it was an hour’s drive into the biodomed city. It hurt so bad I couldn’t move my arm on that side. It just kept getting worse so eventually I just walked out the front door and kept walking, figuring I’d make it to the city eventually. I don’t remember much after that, I know I had a fever so I must have succumbed to it and collapsed and I was found on the side of the road by someone in the staff or my own parents. Either way, I woke back up in my room on the fourth floor, but I was padlocked in. I was given meals by the window washer, I think. Or maybe they opened the door, my memories are fuzzy of the time.”

 

He sighs and turns his forehead back against his arms. “The infection got worse, and eventually they had no choice but to rush me to the emergency room, telling me to make up a story about how I got the cut, or else. I was delirious, but I remember crying to the nurses that I’d been playing on the construction equipment at the mine and I cut myself. It didn’t occur to me that I could have told the truth and my parents could have done nothing to me, I was out of my mind with pain and dehydration and delirium.”

 

He scrubs at his ears with both hands, trying to chase away the buzzing in his skull. “I almost died. I was in a coma for three days. When I woke up alone, found out none of my family had come to visit me - my brother had tried but he wasn’t allowed - that’s when I made the decision to leave, even if I had to join a damn pirate ship to get out.”

 

It’s finally enough for Lewis to break his paralysis. He reaches out his hand to clutch at Crane’s, catching him in the act of rubbing at his ears. He still can’t look directly at Crane, but his fingers wrap around the other man’s palm fiercely, trying to somehow express the love and sympathy and understanding that’s caught in his throat. He can barely breathe. All he can do is cling to Crane’s hand and hope that can be enough, even though there’s no way it’s even close to enough.

 

Crane crawls a little closer, and when Lewis doesn’t lash out or tell him to stop, he curls directly into his side, rubbing his face against Lewis’ neck. He doesn’t purr- he wants to, but he can’t summon the energy. He feels drained, but also like a weight has been lifted from him. He’s never talked in detail about his abuse. He never even talked to Barty about it.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers, tickling his lover’s chin with his whiskers, and rubs his cheek against his throat, still clutching his hand.

 

“I didn’t do anything.” Lewis mumbles. He curls his other arm around Crane, still not looking at him. He has to go, somehow, he has to sneak off somehow and do violence to something or he’s… not sure what he’ll do. But he can’t leave Crane alone, not again, not after the thunderstorm, not after the stories he’s just heard. Not like he’s being particularly comforting right now, stiff and tense and terrified and angry and looking away.

 

“You listened,” Crane reminds him in a quiet murmur. “You stayed. It’s more than you’ve done before. I know it must be difficult but... you tried. Thank you for trying, it means a lot to me. I’ve been surrounded my whole life by a lot of people who give up, so just the fact that you tried... it’s important.”

 

“I’m… I’m sorry I’m not better at this. Staying. Saying anything.” Lewis says in a strangled voice. “I don’t… you deserve better. From everyone. Especially me. And I love you. I’m just… so fucking sorry.” His voice cracks on the last word and he finally looks down at Crane’s wrinkled face, and suddenly the tension and anger floods out of him, washed away in a tidal wave of fierce love for the small man in his arms. He pulls him up into a tight embrace, resting his head on Crane’s shoulder, blinking away tears.

 

“Shh, shh, you are better, you’re so much better,” Crane whispers, cupping both sides of Lewis’ face and rubbing his nose across his forehead. “You’re better than everyone, you’re better than most of the detritus I meet. You’re better for me than anybody has ever been my whole life. You’re better than you think you are. You’ve given me a reason to live again, before I was just biding my time until I got out of Titanium’s grip - or died trying. I never had a reason or a purpose before you. You’re my _life_ , Lewis. I... I love you.”

 

The words feel clumsy and weighty on his tongue. They’re the heaviest words he’s ever said, and the first time he’s ever said them in that order. A shiver runs down his spine and he presses his face into Lewis’ neck, and says it again with a little more certainty.

 

“I _love_ you.”

 

Lewis hasn’t realized how long he’s waited to hear those words from Crane until he starts to cry in earnest. All this time, ever since he said it in a haze of fever and guilt, he’s been telling him freely that he loves him, over and over, the entire past seven months waiting for his lover to say it back. He’s doubted it this entire time. And now he knows why Crane wouldn’t say it back to him – that should have been enough, but now… he’s said it. Lewis tries to blink away his tears but they just flow faster. He shouldn’t be crying – he’s not the one who just went through his entire history of horrific abuse – but he can’t stop himself.

 

“I love you too,” He mumbles, holding Crane tightly against him, so close he can feel his lover’s heartbeat. “I love you so fucking much.”

 

Crane finally starts purring. He licks the salt off Lewis’ cheeks as his tears fall, silent and unspeaking as he washes him with his tongue and tickles him with his whiskers. He keeps his eyes closed, giving Lewis the barest amount of privacy to cry in, and only opens them after his lover has stopped shaking, and his sobs have turned into involuntary gasps.

 

“Lets take that shower together,” he offers, and Lewis nods dumbly, stupefied. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this chapter is accidentally short

The shower is small, but they always make it work. Pressed in together, scrubbing hair and skin and sharing kisses, tears are invisible under the spray. Breakfast is eaten and since its a Sunday, Lewis doesn’t have work. With nothing else to do, they just crawl back into bed together and lie there, facing one another, studying the other man’s features wordlessly, sometimes exchanging kisses that don’t go anywhere.

 

It’s almost two hours before Lewis can bring himself to speak. They’re both still shell-shocked, in a way, and Lewis isn’t sure he can trust his sudden draining of anger – he keeps waiting for it to come back like it did with Cynda’s father, overwhelm him, distance him from Crane. But it stays away, at least for now, and he lets himself relax a tiny bit, content to lie with his lover and trust completely that he’s loved in return. It strikes him as a little bit stupid that it had to be said – Crane’s been showing him this entire time, gently, wordlessly, with every tiny gesture and lick across his face and nuzzle into his neck. But the words solidify it somehow. Lewis can’t help but be grateful.

 

It seems almost trivial after their talk that morning, but he finally remembers the belated gift he’s spent the past week searching for whenever he’s away from Crane for a moment.

 

“Uh. Did you… I have a birthday gift for you.” He mumbles awkwardly, raising himself up on his elbows.

 

Crane’s eyes widen and his ears snap forward. “Are you- you didn’t have to do that,” he babbles humbly, but he’s clearly excited about the possibility of a gift. He even pushes up onto one elbow to look down at his lover.

 

“Yeah I did,” Lewis smiles in spite of himself, charmed by Crane’s expression. “Even if you didn’t give me any warning beforehand. Hang on.”

 

He shifts around until he’s able to get out of the bed without forcing Crane to move too much. Outside the large front windows, it’s grey and overcast, sending a soft pearly light through the apartment. He leaves the flap at the front of the bed up since it isn’t actually raining, and pads over to his shoulder bag, dumped in the corner by the door. Rummaging through it, he eventually draws out a small flat item wrapped in newspaper. He returns to the bed and perches on the edge, handing the gift back to Crane, who’s turned around so he’s facing the entrance.

 

“Sorry I didn’t really wrap it,” Lewis says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

 

Crane’s eyes are wide in wonder as he looks at the small package in his hands. “You wrapped it,” he says with a casual smile as he untapes the top and folds open the paper. But the instant the gift within is uncovered, his smile vanishes.

 

Sitting on his palm is his grandfather’s compass, or at least a compass so similar he can’t tell the difference. His eyes, wide before, widen farther, and his pupils blow wide - so wide they almost take up his entire eyes with the smallest sliver of emerald around gaping black voids. He sucks in a breath and stares, unable to move, at the trinket in his hand.

 

Flat and bronze, with little cogs around the outside like the pegs of a ship’s wheel, a shimmering white face with whiter still hands, ornate script painted delicately, painstakingly scarlet, rubies inlaid directly into the face behind the glass. He can’t even breathe as his other hand lifts and he clicks the familiar latch, it opens into a pocket watch with four separate clocks inside to set to whatever times the owner chooses.

 

Tears are pouring down his cheeks before he realizes he’d even started crying. They drip into his lap soundlessly, fat crocodile tears running down his cheeks and leaving spots on the blankets. He can’t bring himself to look away from the compass in case when he looks back down, it will have changed. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know how to express the level of gratitude soaring in his chest. All he can make is a strangled croaking sound as he begins to shake involuntarily with the force of sobs that have yet to leave his throat.

 

Lewis goes white and reaches for Crane, wiping away the tears on his face, looking down guiltily. “It’s not… it’s just a replica. It’s not even real jewels. I know you’re still looking for the real thing, I didn’t want you to think…” He looks up to see that Crane is still crying, and shuts his mouth, pulling his lover into a hug.

 

“I don’t care, I don’t care,” Crane says quietly, a handful more times, clutching the compass to his chest and pressing his face into Lewis’ neck as his sobs hit him, full wracking and painful, leaving him gasping for breath and dizzy. “You remembered- I only- once- and you remembered.”

 

Nobody’s ever done anything like this for him before. Nobody’s ever listened to him like this, taken notes, given him a gift based on something he said half a year ago. Nobody has ever cared like Lewis cares. The crushing weight of his love bears down on Crane’s shoulders, the full extent of Lewis’ ability to love him is mind-boggling. He can’t breathe, he can only choke into his lover’s neck, feeling his own love start to fill oceans.

 

Lewis holds him tight, trying not to cry himself. He’s not ready to cry any more. He strokes Crane’s back slowly, rocking him a little as he sobs. “I wrote it down,” He admits to Crane’s shoulder, glad the other man can’t see his embarrassed smile. “When we got home that night. It seemed important to you. And then, y’know, it was your birthday, and I thought…” He trails off, dropping his head to nuzzle into Crane’s neck like Crane nuzzles his. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

Crane is inconsolable. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t cried like this since he was a child. Violent, painful gasps that vibrate his throat in uncomfortable ways shake his whole body as he flings his arms around Lewis and holds him as tight and close as he can. He never fathomed he could ever be loved like this by anyone, he never thought he was worth it. He didn’t think there was anything in him worth being loved, his parents had beaten that message into his subconscious so deeply that he believes it himself.

 

Lewis has rattled his world. He’s taken it by the ankles and shaken it upside down and everything Crane has ever known has been falling scattered around him like a snow globe of fragmented memories and fractured emotions. His doubt, his lack of self-worth, his anxiety, his trauma, all of it pales in the face of the overwhelming heavenly light and warmth of Lewis’ love. A love Crane knew for all his life he’d die before experiencing. A love that doesn’t exist outside of childrens’ stories.

 

Love at first sight be damned, prince charming has nothing on Lewis. Crane is hyperventilating against his lover, squeezing him so tightly his muscles ache and quiver but he squeezes still. He can’t let go, he’s never letting go of this one as long as he lives.

 

Crane is holding him so tightly Lewis can barely breathe. Or maybe that’s the rush of emotion that’s choking him as his lover sobs into his shirt desperately, painfully, more than he’d even cried when his awful sister had called. Cradling him, Lewis leans willingly into the embrace, swept away by a wave of love and terror. Crane isn’t good at hiding his emotions – maybe to other people, but to Lewis he’s been an open book for the past few months – and still, Lewis has never seen anything like this.

 

He didn’t mean to do this, and even though he knows it’s a good thing, even though he knows Crane is crying because he’s happy, Lewis finds himself horrified that he has this much of an effect on someone he loves. He’s not sure why – maybe it’s because if he can make Crane this happy, he can disappoint him to the same degree. And that’s the one thing he never, never wants to do again.

 

“Shhhh, it’s… it’s okay.” He whispers, stroking back Crane’s soft ears, kissing him on the top of his downy head. “I love you, it’s okay.”

 

Eventually Crane’s sobs calm down and then cease altogether, leaving him with muscle spasms that have him gasping for air against his will, like a child coming down from an intense tantrum. He feels warm and tired and good all over, still clutching the compass in one hand so tightly it’s left white creases behind in his skin.

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he gasps again and again, trying to swallow down the involuntary choking gasps, but his body continues to spasm.

 

“Here,” Lewis murmurs, grabbing a blanket and hanging it around Crane’s narrow shoulders, trying to hide the worried expression on his face. He doesn’t know what the hell to do – nothing like this has ever happened to him, and Crane’s jerking and gulping air like he’s having some kind of fit. “Are you okay? What can I do?” He asks, rubbing Crane’s back carefully, his other hand wrapped around Crane’s.

 

“Just- don’t- let go,” Crane chokes out between gasps, clutching Lewis like a life raft. The gasps come farther and farther apart as the cat’s muscles finally relax, leaving him completely exhausted and totally satisfied in the way only a good cry can make you feel. He sags against his lover, moving his arms to sandwich them between their bodies, and he cradles the compass against his heart. He’s silent for a while before finally croaking with a soft, winded chuckle. “I’m sorry about that.”

 

“It’s okay, just… are you sure you’re ok?” Lewis peers worriedly at Crane’s face, supporting him with one arm wrapped around his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you cry like that.”

 

Crane nods his head against Lewis’ chest, breathing deeply and shakily. “I think I’ve needed that cry for a lot of years now,” he admits quietly.

 

Lewis bends his head to kiss him softly. He can’t think of anything else to say that can encompass the weight of the love that’s resting on his heart like a stone. Instead they hold each other silently, safely, for a long time. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 100% BDSM porn. It is fully consensual, but if that's not your cup of tea, you might wanna just skip to the next chapter~

By the evening, they’re somewhat back to normal – Lewis makes dinner, Crane finally lets go of the compass for a moment and stows it in his backpack, their fragile conversation returns to its normal good-natured banter. Everything is normal, but more so – the background tension in the apartment, while never exactly intrusive, has dropped down several notches. There’s still things they’re not saying, but Lewis marvels at how much easier even casual conversation is without the fear of Crane saying anything related to his family at all. It’s like they’ve opened the windows and aired out the room.

 

After dinner they have to start packing up the guest bed, which knocks Crane down a peg – he’s quieter, and Lewis makes sure to stay close to him while they’re taking it apart to be put into storage, squeezing his hand or stroking his back whenever possible to remind him he’s still loved, even if his brother’s far away. But Crane recovers quickly, bounding out of the closet as Lewis struggles to fold the mattress into a storage-friendly position.

 

“What?” Lewis grumbles, still fighting the mattress and taken off guard by Crane’s sudden excitable attitude.

 

“I forgot I had this,” Crane says, his voice lilting with joy as he shakes a little black unmarked box about the size of a coffee pot. “It’s a bondage starter kit I bought myself a while ago because of that one time you mentioned you liked bondage but then we never really talked about it again after- well I bought this and forgot about it but I just found it in the back of my closet.”

 

“Oh,” Lewis says, a little taken aback by the small box. But at the same time he immediately wonders what it’d be like to tie up Crane and have his way with him, and edges forwards, encircling Crane’s narrow chest with his arms. “So you like being tied up?”

 

Crane laughs, shifting in his arms unexpectedly. Without any warning, Lewis is pressed downward by his lover’s muscular frame, Crane leaning over him in the exact position he expected himself to be in. “Don’t get too confident, slugger,” Crane murmurs, and Lewis surrenders immediately – he knows better than to fight Crane for dominance after last time.

 

Instead he bites his lip and lets his lover push his hands backwards, slipping them into adjustable cuffs that Lewis honestly can’t grasp the purpose of just yet. But he’s captive, and Crane is encouraging it every step of the way, and Crane is going to tell him when he can fight and when he can ‘t. He sinks to his knees in front of his lover, utterly embracing the fantasy, and feels himself hauled up by the stiff leather bracelets around his wrists, with a strength he hadn’t been anticipating from his lover.

 

And suddenly he finds himself hanging from a previously unsuspected hook in the ceiling of the apartment, stark naked, suspended by his wrists, while Crane stalks around him appreciatively.

 

They’d gone through the box together, establishing what they would use now, what was off-limits, and what they might use later. The blindfold was a hard no with the nipple clamps and anal beads as resounding “eh’s” leaving the rest of the box up for grabs.

 

“Remind me of the safeword,” Crane says as he circles predatorially around Lewis with a riding crop held behind his back. Not because he’s forgotten it, but this is always how they start, reminding Lewis that he’s serious about their safeword.

 

“Break,” Lewis gasps as he feels Crane’s tail tickle the back of his knee as he circles him.

 

“Good boy,” Crane disappears from view behind Lewis’ back again. There’s a strained silence, even the padding of Crane’s paws silences, and then suddenly Lewis is yanked back by his horn, forcing his back into an arch, and the cat presses the rigid handle of the crop roughly against Lewis’ perineum. He stands up on his tiptoes and breathes in Lewis’ ear, “I’ve been looking forward to ruining you.”

 

Lewis jerks forward, grinning in spite of himself. His horn is aching dully and Crane’s whiskers tickle his ear. The riding crop’s handle puts delicious pressure just under his asshole, and he finds himself already breathing a little faster. Something about the way Crane growls “ruin”.

 

He’d done stuff like this with one of his exes, but she was always in the sub position, and in the end it usually turned out slightly disappointing, like she was bored with the entire experience and him in particular. He takes a pointed enjoyment in rougher sex with Crane. It’s always the exact opposite – electric in every way.

 

“Get on with it, then.” Lewis teases, trying to turn his head enough to see Crane’s expression.

 

Crane tugs hard on Lewis’ horn, forcing him to look forward again. “Getting on with it isn’t within your rights to demand,” he growls, biting the tip of Lewis’ ear. He grinds the crop deeper, sending bolts of pleasure up Lewis’ body through his prostate nestled right behind that spongy flesh.

 

And then without warning, he pulls the crop away and leaves a pink stripe that stings for a few seconds on Lewis’ ass cheek. The younger man is so surprised that he gives a startled bleat, the sound is music to Crane’s ears.

 

“Was that too hard for you?” Crane simpers, licking up Lewis’ neck. When the younger man shakes his head in reply, he tugs on his horn. “I can’t hear you,” he brings the crop down a second time, striping Lewis’ thigh twice.

Lewis yelps and jerks away from the crop coming down painfully against his bare buttocks. It takes him a moment before he can reply, grinning shyly as a blush rises up his cheeks.

“N-no, it’s… I can take it.” He gasps, letting himself relax slowly, still equal parts nervous and excited for Crane’s next move.

 

“Suck,” Crane commands, pressing the cool handle to Lewis’ lips. The handle is smooth plastic with a knob on the tip, perfect for insertion. He still has a firm hold on Lewis’ horn as the young man sucks and licks the tip, gagged with it purposefully once or twice while Crane grinds his hips against Lewis’ backside, stretched all the way up on his tippy toes to reach.

 

Crane doesn’t actually intend to put it in Lewis with only saliva for lubrication, but he lets Lewis think that’s his intention so he can watch him feverishly try to slick the plastic handle. He pulls it away from Lewis’ mouth and uses a soundless pump-top bottle of lube to slick the handle properly as he drops to his knees in front of his lover.

 

Without a word of warning, he presses the cold toy inside Lewis and corkscrews it up into him, grinding it into his soft inner muscles. He watches the tendons in Lewis’ legs flutter as pleasure ripples through them, and he purposefully grinds it against his lover’s prostate.

 

And then he lets go. With all four inches of the handle buried inside, he releases the crop, and lets the remaining foot dangle. “Don’t let it slip out or else,” Crane informs the younger man and gives his bare ass a hard swat with his palm to emphasize his point, and to watch Lewis’ muscles tense up.

 

He circles back around in front of Lewis and takes another pump of the lube. Now that he’s in front of him, the scent of something tangy and sweet hits Lewis full force, but he doesn’t have time to ask about it before Crane’s slick hand closes firmly around his cock and pumps at a lazy pace.

 

Lewis moans loudly and clenches his buttocks, determined not to disappoint his lover. He wishes he could drop his hands to make sure the crop doesn’t slip out, but he’s completely helpless, doing his best to be good for Crane, to take what he’s given.

 

Biting his lip, he lurches forward, thrusting his own cock into Crane’s fingers. He’s almost up on tiptoe as he moans and whimpers in his partner’s hands.

 

Crane drops to his knees again and closes his mouth over Lewis’ cock. His choice of flavored lube was a good one, as the crisp, sharp flavor of cranberries bursts on his tongue as he licks and sucks his lover. “Don’t let the crop slip out,” he reminds Lewis, trailing his rough tongue up the underside of his cock before closing his mouth over the length again. His teeth scrape the sides of his lover’s prick, swollen and hard in his jaws.

 

He clutches his lover’s ass, making it even more difficult for him to clench to keep the crop inside, and he forces Lewis’ hips into a shallow thrusting motion as he sucks him. He wishes he had lips so he could provide the suction Lewis deserves, but his lover has never complained about his blows in the past.

 

Crane releases one of Lewis’ buttocks and nudges a single fingertip against the leather flap at the end of the crop, twirling it around in wide circles so its guaranteed to brush against Lewis’ prostate at some point in its revolving. He knows he’s hitting the mark when he feels Lewis’ thighs tremble and when he looks up, he can see the young man twisting in his bonds.

 

Lewis lets out a low groan and thrusts into Crane’s mouth, biting at his lower lip as he tries to keep the crop situated properly. It’s so much more of a struggle than he’d have anticipated – he’s so taken up with the sensation of his lover’s mouth on his cock, the rough tongue licking at the underside of his shaft, the shuddering pleasure of Crane’s whiskers brushing at his thighs.

 

“F-fuck… please just do this forever, holy fucking shit - ”Lewis gasps, shutting his eyes tight as he rocks against his restraints.

 

Crane pulls back for another pump of the flavorful lube, tugging Lewis’ cock for a few moments to spread it across his skin, and he sits back to relish in the way his lover’s body convulses and shakes in his bonds. And then without hesitation he closes his mouth back over Lewis’ prick, this time bobbing his head to the beat of Lewis’ thrusting.

 

He knows Lewis’ body by now. He knows how the young man reacts to pleasure, how his bliss mounts, what to expect. But there’s a new element here, Lewis’ muscles already in fits over the crop they’re trying to hold, so the cat can’t sense just how swiftly his lover’s release is approaching.

 

“Oh my god,” Lewis mumbles, trying to rein himself in, but it’s useless. He jerks in his restraints, closing his eyes as he comes almost the instant that Crane’s mouth closes over his cock. He’s lost for a moment in the tidal wave of pleasure, but as soon as he’s come back to himself, he realizes what an abject failure he is.

 

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… fuck… I should have lasted… god fucking dammit…” He babbles, still writhing against the pressure of the riding crop against his prostate, still tightening his mouth against another moan of pleasure. He’s furious at himself for giving in so quickly, no matter how good Crane is, no matter attentive his lover can be.

 

Crane’s eyes widen as soon as he feels his lover’s release splash on his tongue. He hadn’t expected Lewis to come so early, he’s probably only been sucking him for a minute and a half. It’s actually cute, how easily his lover can be provoked to orgasm.

 

“ _Really?”_ he teases, looking up at his lover and wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “I think that’s a new record for you.”

 

He tugs at his lover’s oversensitive cock, making him writhe and whine in his bonds. He can feel Lewis’ muscles spasming, fighting to get away and get closer to the blistering pleasure of having his prick stimulated post-orgasm.

 

“Sh-shut up, asshole- ” Lewis gasps, trying to get a grip on himself. To his utter embarrassment, he feels the crop slide out of him, clattering to the floor as he grinds his teeth, flinching away from Crane’s hands. “Fuck – I didn’t mean… god dammit – “ He arches away from his lover’s fingers, shivering with arousal, his cheeks burning. “Sorry.” He mumbles, closing his eyes. Fuck. That could have probably gone a lot better.

 

Crane gives a low, growling laugh. “You are a _mess_ , boy,” he scolds, and brings his hand down with a loud smack against Lewis’ buttock. Lewis cries and jerks in his hand, and he finally releases his lover’s prick. It’s softer now, flagged after his orgasm, but Crane will get it back up.

 

He stands up, picking up the crop as he goes, and starts to stalk menacing circles around the shivering young man again. “When I said I was going to ruin you, I didn’t expect it to be so _quick_ ,” he says, dropping his voice down low and gravelly. He presses the leather flap of the crop up against Lewis’ balls, tight and unforgiving until the man whimpers, and he rewards the sound with a quick swat right behind the sac.

 

Stopping in front of Lewis, he grabs him by the jaw, digging fingertips in until he forces the young man’s mouth open. He stuffs his fingers inside, tart and sweet with the cranberry lube, and toys with Lewis’ tongue. He relishes in the overstimulated tears glittering on his lover’s eyelashes.

 

His mouth fills with the taste of cranberries and the slick play of Crane’s fingers over his tongue. Lewis shuts his eyes tight, gagging slightly on his lover’s fingers. He hadn’t expected more after coming, but he won’t complain – he can’t complain, not right now at least, not with Crane’s digits forcing his jaw down, his naked ass stinging amazingly from the crop, his shoulders aching, his body tender and oversensitive but still somehow aching for more.

 

Crane whips Lewis’ back twice, leaving stinging pink marks behind as he finally pulls his fingers from Lewis’ mouth and slides them directly into his ass, making a beeline for his prostate, massaging the overworked gland without mercy. “This little sucker has you shooting off early, huh? And you have the audacity to make fun of me for mine being sensitive.”

 

“F-fuck…off…” Lewis groans, arching forward against Crane’s fingers, shaking with exertion. He swallows hard and tries to regain his senses. It’s not exactly easy. “Asshole… you just can’t stop pushing can you-” He breaks off with a cry as Crane strokes him just right, making his hips buck wildly, falling back against his lover’s fingers as he shudders and gasps for air.

 

Crane withdraws his fingers with a low chuckle. “Can’t have you shooting off again too soon,” he scolds, and stoops by the box of toys. With a singular purpose, he lifts a little three-looped metal harness from the box, tossing it in the air once before catching it. Lewis had just enough time to see it catch moonlight before Crane kneels in front of him.

 

With ease, the cat threads Lewis’ cock into the ring, and slips his balls through an adjacent ring so that it rest snugly against his pelvic bone. It fits him just right, tight and unyielding metal keep him in check. Crane flicks the tip of the crop lightly against Lewis’ cock, watching it spring back and forth, trying for all its might to get hard again.

 

“That should keep you obedient,” Crane smirks, flicking the underside of Lewis’ cock with his fingers, prompting a high-pitched gasp from the man as his half-soft prick bounces up against his belly before falling back down, half suspended by the rings holding it aloft.

 

The metal rings are at once restrictive and enjoyable against the base of Lewis’s cock, locking him into submission, keeping him straining and caught in deep arousal. He tries to keep his breath under control, but he’s fighting a losing battle, especially with Crane flicking and playing with his balls. With some effort he manages to speak again.

 

“Fffffuck… gimme a second… to catch my breath… s-stop playing with me for a sec you old fuck…” he groans, leaning his head back, grinning.

 

Crane smirks and whips the back of Lewis’ knee just hard enough to make the young man stagger. He hadn’t heard the safeword, so he’s not worried. “You don’t have the luxury of dictating stimulation,” he says, stalking around behind Lewis again, circling him like a vulture.

 

He certainly is a sight. Flushed bright red and glistening with sweat, striped with a lovely shade of pink in spots (not enough, he thinks, and whips Lewis thrice over the chest) prick waking back up only to redden in its prison, muscles rippling and tensing in anticipation of the crop coming down somewhere else on his body.

 

Crane stretches onto his tiptoes and starts to bathe the slightly raised welts on Lewis’ back and shoulders with his rough tongue, purring deeply in his chest as he licks up salty sweat beading on his lover’s broad musculature. He soothes the marks, kneeling down to lick the ones on Lewis’ thighs and buttocks. His touch is nice and soft, but he’s really just biding his time waiting for Lewis to get hard again as he circles back around in front of him and licks the welts across his chest, gripping him by the hips to keep him steady.

 

Looking up to make eye contact with Lewis, still licking across the stinging pink marks, he lets the tips of his claws out of his fingers and trails all ten down his lover’s back, just hard enough to raise the tiniest of marks. He knows from experience how painful cat scratches can be, so he uses only the barest amount of pressure to have Lewis writhing.

 

Every time the crop strikes him, Lewis flinches and jerks backwards, gasping. When Crane begins to lap at the welts he’s left, he almost flinches again – the contrast is incredible, the sudden sharp (but still enjoyable) pain of the crop countered by the rough, comfortable feeling of his lover’s tongue against his skin. As he begins to grow comfortable with the attention, he feels a sharp, incredible raking across his back, and realizes Crane is clawing him. Arching his back and letting out a low cry of pleasure, Lewis arcs forward again, away from his lover’s questing hands. He struggles to get his breath under control, coughing once under his breath.

 

“Y’re still not ruining me,” he lies, starting to laugh before he’s distracted by another quick movement of Crane’s claws.

 

“I will,” Crane insists, and claws up Lewis’ thighs with both hands, grinding against Lewis’ prick, the material of his pants rough against the overwrought organ. He drops to his knees again, drawing the box closer. He pulls out an eight-inch, plain black dildo, nothing fancy, but with the flick of a switch it buzzes to life.

 

He pins the entire length of the dildo to Lewis’ cock with his hand, holding every buzzing, vibrating inch against the oversensitive flesh. He holds it in place despite Lewis’ thrashings, keeping it firmly against his cock, vibrating pleasure down into his pelvic floor and through his tired muscles.

 

“Shit shit shit shit shit oh my god oh fuck oh my god- ” Lewis gasps, convulsing against the vibrator, his hips twisting helplessly, going limp immediately, his entire body supported by the cuffs holding his hands above his head. The tight metal around his cock and balls is almost painfully restrictive, but also buzzing ever so slightly along with the dildo, the spots where the two intersect pressing unbearably against the underside of his dick.

 

Breathing heavily, gasping, giving out low cries and moans of pleasure, Lewis lets his head drop backwards as his hips strain forward against Crane’s skillful hands. The cat smirks up at him knowingly, and pumps his hand along both the dildo and Lewis’ cock, adding pressure to the cacophony of sensation ripping through his nervous system.

 

And then suddenly the buzzing is gone, and Lewis sags in his bonds for a few blissful, numb seconds. Only as long as it takes for Crane to pump lube over the dildo, before he presses it up inside his lover. It’s not terribly thick, only about as wide as two fingers, but it doesn’t need to provide a great stretch when it has such a powerful motor vibrating merrily against that hotspot of nerves inside.

 

When Lewis sucks in a breath so loudly it sounds painful, Crane takes it as his cue to close his mouth over his lover’s cock again, doubling the knife-edged bliss.

 

As Crane inserts the dildo, Lewis can’t help gasping loudly and lurching forward. And then suddenly there’s his lover’s mouth on him again, slowly, pointedly sucking at his dick, grasping his ass and pulling him forward as the dildo fills him and vibrates enticingly against his prostate. He groans and arches forwards, thrusting unconsciously into his lover’s mouth.

 

Crane is merciless with the vibrator, spinning it and corkscrewing it into Lewis’ prostate. “You don’t get off early this time,” he growls at his lover, fucking the fake cock into him as he licks long, electrifying stripes up his prick with his barbed tongue. With his free hand he flicks the rings separating Lewis’ cock from his balls while simultaneously preventing his balls from hitching up, keeping his orgasm at bay no matter how hard Crane stimulates him. The rings make a humming sound and jerk vibrations through the cock in the cat’s mouth.

 

Lewis makes a strangled sound as the vibrator penetrates further, twisting in his restraints. He’s barely able to support himself, most of his weight is dangling from the cuffs around his wrists – his legs have gone boneless a long time ago. As Crane’s rough tongue caresses his cock he sucks in air, almost flinching at the contact. He’s so overstimulated he can barely breathe.

 

Crane would almost be worried about how much Lewis is whining and writhing, but he still hasn’t given the safeword, so he’ll continue on until he does, or until he feels he’s tortured his lover enough. He slips the vibrator out and pins it to his palm with his ring and pinkie finger to keep the vibrations tickling through his whole hand, and he presses his first two fingers back into Lewis. The vibrations aren’t _quite_ as intense this time, but there’s a level of accuracy when it comes to prostate stimulation that only fingers can achieve.

 

“How badly do you want to come?” he asks Lewis, crooking his vibrating fingers and rubbing circles into the collection of nerves as he licks up the length of his lover’s cock.

 

“G-god… I don’t… I don’t think I can yet,” Lewis is forced into honesty by the twin sensations of his lover’s fingers and tongue. He’s exhausted and over-aroused, but he still wants this to last. Taking a deep breath, he leans forward and bows his head, not wanting to say the safeword but still needing a moment.

 

“Can we… can we take a break… just for a minute I’m just… I don’t want to stop, I’m just…” He realizes he’s babbling again and clenches his teeth, breathing heavily. He hopes like hell that Crane will pick up on the fact that he’s being sincere for now.

 

Crane’s eyes flick up at the use- whether intentional or accidental -of their safeword in the middle of a sentence. Either way, he’s asking for the stimulation to stop so Crane pulls his fingers out and releases his lover’s prick from his mouth where it bobs in the open air, saliva turning cold on his skin and dripping to the floorboards.

 

He flicks the vibrator off and drags the box closer with his tail so he can take the silk cloth out that’s meant to be the blindfold, instead using it to gently wipe Lewis’ cock dry. “Too much for you?” he teases light-heartedly, licking a still-pink mark on the younger man’s thigh.

 

For a moment Lewis can’t even respond. He’s busy trying to calm his breathing, get enough air into his lungs. He feels dizzy –he’s not used to sex going on beyond someone coming, and he has to take a moment to get a hold on himself again. Eventually, he becomes aware that Crane is lapping gently at the welts on his skin, comforting and reassuring. He swallows hard and leans his head back, closing his eyes.

 

“Sorry,” He murmurs, still struggling to get his breathing under control. “I’m fine, I’m just… you’re really fucking good.”

 

He lets out a shaky laugh and tries to steady himself. And then, somewhat stupidly, he tries to reach down and stroke Crane’s ears back, like he’s used to doing, except he’s somehow forgotten that he’s strung up by the wrists, so he only jerks himself forward awkwardly against his lover’s tongue. Blushing bright red, Lewis leans backwards, making a face at his own stupidity. Intending to make up for himself, he turns his face away, mumbling “Just… give me a second. I’ll be better.”

 

Crane senses an embarrassed self-deprication in his voice, so he pauses in his licking and looks up with wide emerald eyes. “You’re already the best,” he tells him in a soft, sincere voice, running his fingers down and then back up Lewis’ thighs to lightly stimulate his skin and keep it from getting too chilled.

 

He stands up and licks across Lewis’ lips in a tender kiss, cupping his face with both hands to tilt his tired head in the direction he wants it. He digs his claws just barely into the man’s skin to keep his nerve endings awake as he licks into his mouth, the sweet tang of cranberries being passed between tongues.

 

Lewis winces and grins as his lover’s claws rake across his back, leaning into the kiss wholeheartedly. He’s still trying to get himself together somehow, slowly gaining back his stamina. He drops his forehead to lean against Crane’s, catching his breath.

 

“Thanks. For not being. I dunno. For being nice. Even if you’re an ancient horrible fucking asshole,” He starts laughing again, nudging his lover’s shins as he gives him a cocky grin. He’s recovered enough to be rude, at least.

 

Crane whips him gently in the back of the knees with his tail. “Don’t be a little shit,” he says. “I _will_ gag you.” It’s refreshing, having Lewis’ snarky attitude coming back out of the shell he’d almost curled up backwards into.

 

“Bet you wouldn’t,” Lewis teases, leaning away from Crane’s tail, still grinning. “You love me talking shit, admit it. You wouldn’t even know what to say if I wasn’t fucking with you.”

 

He’s finally caught his breath, no longer shuddering with the efforts of orgasm, even though he’s still so strongly experiencing the growing tingles of arousal from the restrictive rings around his cock and balls.

 

Slowly, he relaxes, still fairly comfortable in his restraints, although considerably less reactive than before. It takes a moment before he can feel confident in saying it, but when he does, he’s giving Crane a sideways grin.

 

“Okay, carry on, old man.”

 

Crane gives the young man a sneering expression as he slips back into his role. “You think I wouldn’t gag you?” he says, stooping into the box and pulling out a cherry red ball gag, twirling it around his finger by a ring. “You think I wouldn’t leave you with your own shit-talk in your head, trapped in your throat with your moans?”

 

He grabs Lewis’ cock with his free hand, still twirling the ball menacingly as he strokes his lover’s purpling cock. He pulls on it, forcing Lewis to take a gasping half-step forward and close the gap between their chests. “You think I won’t gag you on it, make you choke and drool on yourself? You must not know me very well, boy.”

 

Lewis stifles a moan when Crane tugs on his dick, stumbling forward as far as his strung up arms will allow. “Fuckin’ make me shut up, then.” He laughs, leaning as far as he can to kiss his lover and then falling backwards, smirking.

 

Crane forces a thumb into Lewis’ mouth, shoving it farther back between his teeth than necessary to get him to open his jaws, gagging him on his digit before he pushes the red rubber ball in place. He swings around behind Lewis and clips it behind his neck, taking care not to get any of his curls in the buckle.

 

Leaning in so his mouth is right beside Lewis’ ear, he whispers quietly, “One stomp to slow down, three to stop,” before he walks back around to face his lover with the same air of cockiness as before. He lifts the crop again and begins to patter light, quick taps against Lewis’ cock, making it bob this way and that with the gentle stinging swats.

 

“You’re already drooling,” he teases, observing the shine on Lewis’ chin as he brings the crop down, harder, over his thigh.

 

Lewis grits his teeth against the ball gag, flinching at every light, stinging slap of the crop against his sensitive genitals. Robbed of his ability to talk back, he’s left twisting in his restraints, moaning loudly into the gag, gazing through watering eyes at his lover as he’s taunted and teased. In some far-away corner of his mind, he’s taken careful note of the stomping rule, but he’s mostly overwhelmed by the painful and wonderful sensations below his waist and the slow, steady ache in his shoulders.

 

“You’re shaking like an overworked horse,” Crane chuckles, raking his claws down Lewis’ chest and belly to watch him convulse and his muscles vibrate under his skin. “I bet you’d like to be able to come,” Crane takes Lewis’ cock again, stroking it slowly but with firm pressure. “Wouldn’t you?” Lewis only grunts, so Crane whips him across the ass twice in quick succession with a repeated, louder, “ _Wouldn’t you?”_ and when Lewis nods with a choked-off whimper, Crane smirks in satisfaction.

 

He suddenly walks away from Lewis altogether. He’s outside of Lewis’ ability to twist and watch, all the young man can hear is a scraping noise, and then Crane is behind him again, stepping up on the chair to alter his chain. It’s clipped into itself over the hook so it won’t slip, and he unclips it, letting it drop until Lewis’ arms fall to his waist at 90 degree angles, and he reclips it.

 

With the crop in hand, he swats Lewis’ bottom again and tells him to turn, and when Lewis obeys, he sees Crane sat leisurely in the chair, his trousers open and his cock standing long and hard in the open air. “Mount me,” he commands, throwing one arm over the back of the chair and twirling the crop in its fingers lazily.

 

Lewis manages an “mmph” of assent, still a little awkward with the gag between his teeth. He takes a deep breath through his nose and settles onto Crane’s lap, allowing his lover to maneuver his cock into his ass, moaning and shutting his eyes tight as the slick phallus slips into him. He drops his head momentarily, his horns brushing across Crane’s pink nose. With a low cry of pleasure he twitches his hips, riding Crane’s cock slowly, almost cautiously, already anticipating the next stinging blow on his body.

 

Crane drops his head back with a content sigh as his cock is squeezed on all sides by Lewis’ slick, well-prepared hole. “Ohhh, yes,” the words curl out on an exhale like smoke as Lewis starts to lift himself up and drop back down over his prick.

 

“Faster,” he commands, whipping Lewis on the ass like an unruly pony. This kicked Lewis into higher gear, riding Crane’s cock a little quicker. The angle puts a little strain on Lewis’ thighs, so he can’t expect him to really pound himself, but he’ll encourage him until he’s too tired to continue. Every few thrusts he’ll swat Lewis on the back or the ass or his thighs, earning muffled hisses of stinging pleasure from the man.

 

Wincing, Lewis obeys, speeding up his hips as he thrusts Crane’s cock into himself. His thighs are aching with the effort of maintaining his somewhat awkward position, but the crop against his ass propels him forward. He’s whimpering slightly, the pressure of his lover’s prick sending shivers down his spine. His own cock is fully erect again, straining at the metal rings around it. As he speeds up, he finds himself moaning in time. If he could talk, he’d be crying out Crane’s name.

 

“Attaboy,” Crane praises, raking his nails down Lewis’ shivering thighs. He loops his lover’s bound hands over his shoulders to give him something solid to lean against and thrust himself more steadily, and oh Lewis does. Given the proper fulcrum, Crane is suddenly awash under the force of his young lover’s strong core, bouncing him over the cat’s cock with strong, quick movements.

 

Crane starts to meet Lewis’ thrusts, angling his hips up every time his lover drops down, doubling the force of the fucking. Crane is gasping exhales every time his cock slots up into Lewis’ body, pushing into and spreading open all of his muscles, grinding against his tired prostate, squeezed on every side by molten flesh. He can already feel his orgasm closing in on him, not too quickly, his pleasure mounting and building with every slick slap of their skin together.

 

Lewis grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, hissing through the ball gag at every stroke against his overstimulated prostate, but still unwilling to slow. He loves the way Crane’s thrusting up into him now, the quiet sounds his lover makes as he brings his hips down again, quickly as he can. He leans his head back, groaning quietly, as his balls slap against his lover’s. He rides him as well as he can, arms locked around his neck, breathing heavily through the ball locked in his mouth, almost gagging on the words he wants to say.

 

“You have something you want to say?” Crane questions, slapping his lover on the thigh with the crop to get his attention. Lewis wails through the gag, nodding his head. “I can’t understand you, you have something in your mouth!” Crane laughs, swatting Lewis across the bottom and earning another drawn-out yelp of pleasure.

 

Crane grabs Lewis around the waist, stilling him, and continues to grind up into him in lazy circles as he reaches up to unclip the gag from his lover’s mouth. Saliva runs down his chin and drips on his chest and he watches Lewis gulp for air for a few seconds, spurring him back into action with another stripe across the ass.

 

“What was that you were saying?” he reminds the overworked blond when he starts to bounce his hips again.

 

Lewis takes a bare second to wipe his chin on his shoulder before answering. “I was g-going to say… fuck… I was…”

 

He gives up, the feeling of Crane’s cock in him too much to take, especially with the added stimulation of the crop against his body. “Let me come… please-” He almost whimpers the last word, gasping as he continues riding Crane, determined not to let this go no matter how much he desperately wants to come again.

 

Crane’s smirk widens and he reaches beneath Lewis’ bobbing, purple cock. “Please _what?”_ he insists, waiting for his honorific.

 

Lewis throws his head back with a desperate cry of, “Please, sir!”

 

Crane flicks apart the magnets that holds the rings together, and from there, it’s easy to slip them off Lewis’ swollen cock. The instant they’re off he lets them clatter loudly to the floor along with the crop, and he grabs Lewis’ hips to hold him still as he starts to pound up into him. Arching his paws onto his tiptoes, he jackhammers his lover and tugs on his cock at the same breakneck speed.

 

He growls, “Come for me, slugger.”

 

Spreading his legs even further, Lewis redoubles his efforts, thrusting himself onto Crane’s cock at a frenetic speed. He gasps as his lover’s fingers wrap around his own prick, stroking quickly and almost unbearably. With a loud cry he obeys Crane’s orders, involuntarily almost, jerking on his lover’s prick as he finally lets go.

 

It takes him a moment to come back to himself – if the first time he came was intense, it was nothing compared to this, a long delayed surge of pleasure spent across Crane’s body. It takes a moment before he’s able to catch his breath, and even though he’s still rocking against his lover’s cock, twitching his hips as he rides the aftershocks of orgasm, he realizes very slowly that Crane hasn’t come yet.

 

He trusts Crane to tell him what to do to get him off, but he’s hoping he can keep up – he’s exhausted by arousal, ready to collapse and sleep in his lover’s arms. But at the same time, he wants to keep Crane satisfied.

 

“Just- hold still-” Crane gasps, wrapping both arms tight around Lewis’ waist and crushing his face into his lover’s chest, he continues his fevered pace. Slamming his hips up, thighs shaking, breath sawing in and out of his lungs, his pleasure mounts and he reaches climax with a yowl. Muffled in Lewis’ skin he fucks his overtired lover through it, pumping his seed into him. He’s careful not to go deep enough to lock them together with his knot, there’s no way Lewis could handle that right now.

 

Finally as his own orgasm ebbs, he slips out of Lewis and smirks as he feels his own semen leak out of his hole and drip over Crane’s cock and onto the floor.

 

“Let’s get you washed and into bed,” he says, reaching up to undo Lewis’ cuffs one by one so his lover can slump against him. He rubs the tired young man’s back, nuzzling into his neck with a whispered, “You did so good.”

 

He pats Lewis’ back to spur him into motion, helping him stay upright with a steadying arm as he leads him to the bathroom with a promise to scrub his back.

 

Lewis moans quietly, falling against Crane’s encircling arms, closing his eyes gratefully as his lover maneuvers him into the shower, keeping him safe, keeping him close. He lets himself be reassured, taken care of, as he and Crane fall into bed together. And the next day it’s a joke, a lovely memory, something they’d both enjoyed. 


	30. Chapter 30

The next week, Lewis returns from his work, tired and frustrated by a long and horrible shift, to find Crane fretting and pacing across the apartment.

 

“What’s going on?” Lewis says, immediately going to his partner and wrapping his arms around his waist. Crane almost jerks away from the contact, which is Lewis’s first clue that something is a lot more wrong than usual.

 

“Thank god you’re finally home,” Crane says, his tone sharper than he meant it to come out, but he’s not apologizing. “Pack your things. _All_ your things. Anything that’s yours. I have the cruiser parked out front. You have to get out for a couple weeks. I already started for you, all your clothes are in that suitcase on top of the dresser but I don’t know what you have where, so collect everything and get it in that cruiser, pronto.”

 

Lewis withdraws his arms immediately, almost flinching away from Crane.

 

“Is… can I ask why.” He asks stiffly, blinking away the tears that are threatening him, balling his hands into fists. He should have known, he should have never been comfortable with Crane’s love, he should have never ever accepted that he was accepted… it still hurts, though. He grits his teeth and swallows hard, trying to pretend like this hasn’t blindsided him.

 

“Titanium always ransacks my place when I leave on a long job,” Crane says, grabbing things out of the fridge and putting them into a cooler on the floor. “He always does, he gets a sick enjoyment out of me coming home from a long trip to find my place a wreck. You can’t be here. No trace of you can be here. Pack every single thing of yours and stick it in the cruiser, you’re coming with me.”

 

It takes Lewis a moment to realize that no, actually, Crane isn’t breaking up with him – on the contrary, he’s being taken along, he’s being included on a trip, he’s coming along. Even if it’s just on a “business trip”.

 

He has to swallow his anger and change it in for joy, ignoring the fact that Crane hadn’t noticed his terror and sadness. It’s fine. It’s completely fine. Crane still loves him, so everything else is completely fine. Lewis nods and sets about collecting his clothing, his paperback novels, even the vegetables in Crane’s fridge.

 

“Where are we going?” He asks nervously, waiting for Crane to deny him – bracing for “We? Who’s we?” or similar, even with the tenuous reassurance Crane’s giving him.

 

“Vitessence,” Crane responds without missing a beat. “We’re leaving immediately. We’ve got probably less than ten hours before Titanium tosses the place, and I’d like to put as much distance between us and him as possible in that time. Cook up anything you need to, to bring along with, everything else is going in the cooler.”

 

He finally stops moving around for a nanosecond and looks over at Lewis. He sees his lost and frightened expression and the tension leaves his shoulders with an exhale that comes more from his soul than his lungs. He hadn’t thought about how much this might frighten Lewis, he’s been riding a high of anxious nerves for hours. He pads slowly over to his lover and wraps his arms around him, nuzzling into his chest.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m a wreck,” he murmurs, nosing against Lewis’ neck. “We don’t have to move so fast, I’m just panicked. I don’t want him to know you’re here. Call your work and arrange the trip, go without pay if you have to, do whatever it takes. Tell them it’s to hide from Titanium and they’ll understand. Then lets take a shower, it’ll be a couple days of driving before we get there so we should be as clean as possible. Remind me to breathe if my hackles start to raise again.”

 

Lewis closes his eyes, trying to ignore the tears gathering in the corners. He lets out a long, slow breath, forcing all his fears and tensions out of his body as he leans against Crane. _Trust him, you idiot. You should know better by now,_ he chides himself.

 

“Okay,” He says quietly. “It’s okay. I can take care of my work. We’ll be fine.”

 

He tries to stifle the note of anxiety in his own voice – less out of fear of Titanium than fear of being left behind again, even though Crane is clearly doing his best to reassure him. But it’s not important right now. Crane is scared. He can be tough, he can be reliable, he can help in some tiny way, even if it’s just by staying calm.

 

Crane stands up on his tiptoes and kisses Lewis once before he’s off again, tossing together his wardrobe in a second suitcase, along with a tailored suit that Lewis only sees a flash of before it’s locked away inside the suitcase and set beside Lewis’.

 

Meals are made and their shower is taken, and within an hour and a half, the lights are off, everything is unplugged, and they’re driving away in the cruiser. Crane had made sure to pack the compass Lewis got him that resembled his grandfather’s into his suitcase, since it was likely Titanium might have his compasses ripped down off the ceiling, and he didn’t want to risk that one breaking, nor did he want to take the time to have all of them taken down one by one, since they’d counted 176 were hanging once on a lazy afternoon.

 

They drove in relative silence for the first hour or so, Lewis eating his dinner and feeding Crane his by fork while he drove. Only when the planet they’d left behind was absolutely no longer visible, Crane slows the vehicle via propulsors into a dead stop, leaving them totally isolated in the vastness of space. Crane then crawls out of his seat and into Lewis’ straddling him and curling up against his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry I’m so anxious a lot of the time, I’m sorry you have to deal with it. I’m sorry I don’t have my shit together. I know how tough you are, you want to face Titanium’s men horns-first,” he cups Lewis’ face with both hands and rests their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I always make you run.”

 

Lewis is startled into (probably inappropriate) laughter by his lover’s words. “God, it’s fine, running is fine. I don’t give a shit about running. I’ve been running since I was a kid.” He reaches out his hand to stroke back Crane’s ears, drawing the smaller man against his chest.

 

“It’ll keep you safe, is the important thing,” Lewis mumbles, turning his head away. Even now, after months of loving Crane, he still can’t look him in the eyes when he’s scared for him. He still has to look away. With a quiet cough of embarrassment, he turns his face back to Crane’s, kissing him gently.

 

“It’s really okay,” He says quietly. Now that the initial panic has left him, now that he knows he’s being taken along, it’s fine. He’d be fine with anything. Even just drifting in the blackness of space like they’re doing now. He wouldn’t care. As long as Crane is there.

 

For a while, Crane just sits there, content to be close to Lewis. He closes his eyes and listens to his heartbeat, and at one point he starts purring very softly. He could probably fall asleep on Lewis, but he has to get them moving again. Crane finally slips back into his seat and starts the cruiser up again, and they glide through the starry black emptiness.

 

The trip, as he’d said, was long and tedious. They stop at a few asteroid rest stops - not for the bathroom since there’s one built right into the cruiser in the back, and not for food since they’ve got plenty of that, but just to stretch their legs and get all the kinks out. They take turns sleeping in the back seat, since the journey is mostly a straight line for a very long way, and there’s a GPS dotted line to follow anyway, and they talk about anything they can think of. Lewis teaches Crane his favorite song and Crane starts teaching Lewis how to speak Mewla. Lewis is dreadful at it, but then again, humans weren’t really meant to meow.

 

Finally, their desination comes into view. After 36 hours of driving, the planet they’re headed for is in sight. Lewis is plastered to the window, leaving nose smudges on the glass as he takes in the sight of it. It looks significantly bigger than the planet they’d left behind, and is almost totally snow white, with strings of black marbling its surface.

 

“Vitessence,” Crane gestures to the planet as it grows larger in the windshield. “It’s kind of a weird place. Never actually been before. It’s Titanium’s home planet. The people are... quirky, here. You’ll see what I mean.”

 

They pull into a docking station and Crane shows his passport through the window while Lewis hides in the back, and they putter down towards the surface of the planet. It’s clear after a moment that the white surface is just a blanket of clouds shrouding the planet, and after they get under it, it’s totally pitch black save for the millions of twinkling city lights.

 

“Eternal night in this place,” Crane tells him when Lewis’ eyes go wide with wonder. “Very cold, but nobody goes outdoors. Everything is incased in glass, there are walkways between buildings. You’d probably freeze to death in under a minute if you went outside. Not that there are any ways to get outside, unless you’re Spider-Man.”

 

This is proved by the airlock they near, a hole opening in the ceiling to allow them to hover down into the garage. They’re greeted by a valet as they pull their suitcases out with an ordinary uniform, save for the mirrored black sphere totally encasing his head. A smiling emoji blinks onto the surface of the ball and Crane gives the man his keys and buys a ticket. The emoji winks, and then the man heads off to park Crane’s cruiser.

 

Crane checks the message Titanium had given him and leads Lewis through the chilly parking garage to a set of double doors, and when they slide open into a secondary airlock, they’re blasted with warm air before the next pair of doors open into an extremely extravagant hotel lobby. Polished black marble floors mirror the hanging crystal chandeliers so large people could live in them dangling from high vaulted ceilings, beautifully painted with scenes of baroque women lounging with cherubs having picnics and riding horses and so on.

 

Ferns in white ivory pots bring splashes of green to the rich red velvet drapes and dark leather furniture, and the front desk is entirely made of solid glass, warping the employee (who is wearing a jumpsuit made of literally nothing but pearls) behind it from the chest down. Crane drops Titanium’s name, and they’re instantly given a room key. As they step into the glass-walled elevator, they shoot up through a tube and Lewis can see the rest of the city. It’s a mess of tubes, walkways both on the ground and suspended in the air, and every building is made of curvy domes or tall curved spires. There are no corners anywhere in the whole landscape, even the bitter icy rock beyond it is curved and sloping. The major color scheme of the planet - or at least this city - appears to be pale aqua, vivid gold, deep red, and black.

 

“What do you think?” Crane asks his stunned companion, nudging him to get his attention from where he was pressed bodily against the glass to reduce the glare as he peers outside.

 

“This is amazing.” Lewis says, breathlessly. “I can’t… I can’t even believe this is a real place, to be honest. It’s so incredible.” He’s been drinking in the scenery the entire time, wide-eyed, staring out at the glass tubes and towers silhouetted against the snow outside, the bright spires that the buildings are built into.

 

Almost reluctantly, he turns back to Crane, away from the gorgeous scenery outside the glass elevator. “How do you ever get used to this?” He asks quietly. “How do you ever… I dunno, get on with your life? When you see stuff like this? It’s so… I could look at this forever.”

 

“I’ve been to weirder places,” Crane chuckles. “I think if I were like you, I would be awestruck too. But Titanium has flung me all over the universe for odd jobs. I’ve seen places inhabited by sapient candy. This is pretty standard issue. Besides,” he leans back against the glass with a little chuckle. “Titanium came from this place. This,” he gestures around him. “Pretty much what the inside of his house looks like.”

 

Lewis tears his eyes away from the scenery long enough to glare at Crane. “Not exactly. This is… a real place. It’s really damn beautiful. Titanium’s house was a fucking nightmare. Couldn’t hold a candle to…” He gestures ineffectively as the elevator comes to a halt.

 

“Anyway. It doesn’t seem standard issue to me.” He concludes, turning reluctantly away from the vista in front of him to enter the hotel.

 

The hallway is just as lavishly decorated, with more ferns and velvet benches, wide mirrors and lovely watercolor paintings of busty women in gowns and fops wearing powdered wigs. The floors are the same polished black marble, this time with a velvet red carpet down the center to keep foot steps from clacking while people were sleeping. Anybody they passed were dressed bizarrely, in choppy layered fashions, or sometimes in things that aren’t meant to be clothes at all. One man walked by with a full beard wearing a coat made of nothing but royal blue feathers.

 

“Here’s our room,” Crane says, getting Lewis’ attention from where he’d been unconsciously but impolitely staring at a woman wearing a slinky black dress with holes cut out that totally exposed her breasts.

 

They head inside past the polished black wooden door into a gorgeous sprawling suite. The far wall is windowed to show off the beautiful scenery, much like Crane’s apartment back home, but the similarities end there. There is only one bed, a massive canopy up on a raised platform with steps up to it because it’s so high off the ground. It’s draped with luxurious black cloth, golden silk sheets covering the plush bed. There’s a big oak desk and a TV hung on the wall, beautiful dressers side by side and a sitting area near the windows, along with a mini bar, a hot tub out on the glass-enclosed balcony outside the windows (one of which must be a door) and a juke box.

 

Crane dumps his suitcase on the floor and arches to pop his back as he flicks on the bathroom light. It’s half as large as the bedroom, but gorgeous the same. A triangular bath tub sits in the corner, deeper than any bath tub Lewis has ever seen and made of black marble. The taps look like solid gold, as well as all the openings for the jets. Crane ducks inside to splash his face with water from the black marble sinks, molded to look like seashells. He dries off with a fluffy towel and shakes his head, scattering water from his whiskers.

 

“Are you hungry because I’m starving,” he says, hanging the towel back up on its rack. “See if you can find a room service menu, I gotta piss.”

 

Lewis feels like his eyes are going to bug out of his head. He’s never, ever dreamed of being in a place like this. It almost feels like a parody of how he’s always imagined rich people living. And Crane is just… accepting it, fitting in, barely batting an eye at the absurd luxury that surrounds them. It seems insane to him – the fact that Crane can casually wander through these beautiful rooms, that he can ignore the ridiculous luxury surrounding him, that he can even piss in a place like this.

 

He tiptoes around the room himself, terrified that he’s going to break something expensive. Gingerly, unwilling to touch anything in case he fucks it up, Lewis sorts through the desk drawers, eventually stumbling across a gilt-edged room service menu. He glances at the prices and immediately shakes his head in mingled horror and disdain, laying it back on the desk and retreating to the stupidly luxurious bed.

 

“I’m not. Really hungry,” He mumbles, wishing more than anything to be back in the small studio apartment, or exploring the planet, or really anywhere but this hotel room.

 

“I am,” Crane flips through the menu and orders himself a plate of lobster, as well as a garden salad with the works for Lewis when he decides he’s hungry. He thanks and tips the room service man when he arrives - wearing an ordinary uniform from the waist up, and fishnets, tiny black shorts and black pumps from the waist down.

 

Crane eats right on the bed, much to Lewis’ horror. He even drops a few flecks of lobster on the sheets before scooping them up as he flicks through the TV channels. He finally notices that Lewis has been sitting stiffly and hasn’t moved at all for almost a solid ten minutes.

 

“You got a bug up your ass?” Crane asks, patting the bed beside him to encourage Lewis to sit closer to him.

 

Lewis shoots him a horrified look. For the past half hour he’s been trying not to touch anything, and Crane is just… it’s like he doesn’t understand how completely, absurdly expensive everything around them is.

 

“It… it’s fine.” He says, forcing himself to let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’s been holding. “I’m just tired. Sorry. Can we just go to sleep?”

 

He turns and buries his red face in Crane’s downy chest, hoping his lover won’t notice his fairly obvious tension. He’s loved the trip up until this point, but now all he wants to do is keep very, very still to avoid breaking the hotel room, or run the hell away from all this luxury and find a crap highway motel where he can actually breathe.

 

Crane tuts and lifts Lewis’ face with a hand to his jaw. “What’s the matter?” he says, setting his lobster aside so he can run his fingers through Lewis’ hair. “Do you not like this place? I know it might remind you of Titanium’s home... I was worrying about that on the way here. But I promise, it’ll be okay. I’ll keep you safe.”

 

“It’s not that,” Lewis mutters, although if he’s being honest with himself, there’s probably a fair bit of un-dealt-with trauma from his stay in Titanium’s upper levels mixed in with his general nerves. He looks down, embarrassed to even be nervous.

 

“It’s really stupid. But… this place is more fucking expensive than anything I’ve ever seen and I’m gonna ruin something and you’re gonna have to pay for it and I fucking hate being scared of something so god damn dumb.” The words come out in a rush and he bites his tongue, way too late. He tenses in Crane’s arms, embarrassed, though he’s certainly done and said worse. It’s just so juvenile and provincial of him, that he’s scared of even breathing in this room. He closes his eyes, cheeks burning, turning his face away from Crane’s comforting hands. “Sorry. It’s so fucking idiotic. I’ll… I’ll get over it.” He mumbles.

 

Crane looks around. He supposes the room really is luxurious, he’s just been to so many places like this before it hardly phases him. For Lewis, who was right at home in his one-room apartment, it’s no surprise this is overwhelming for him.

 

Gently disentangling from Lewis’ arms, he looks around the room. He finally settles on a gorgeous vase sitting on the desk in the corner, and picks it up. He pitches it across the room with all his might and it shatters on the floor. He sees the expression of horror on Lewis’ face and quickly pads over to him to relax him with a soothing hand clutching his lover’s.

 

“They’re just things. This is a hotel, not a museum. They don’t put priceless artifacts in hotel rooms. Hotels are the only places in the universe where you walk in and the first thing you do is steal everything you can, and they know that. They’ve probably got a whole closet stocked with nothing but copies of that vase. And besides, anything that gets broken is added to the tab- which Titanium picks up. He always provides my accommodation. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

 

Lewis raises his free hand to his forehead, eyes wide with shock. “I can’t fucking believe you just…. jesus fucking christ, Crane.” He starts laughing in spite of himself, breathlessly, his heart beating frantically with mingled panic and love. Still laughing, he reaches over to cling to Crane again, his horns resting against his lover’s chest, still clutching at his hand. Finally he calms his breath and the last semi-hysterical giggles that struggle out of him.

 

“Thanks,” He mumbles, raising his head so he’s talking into Crane’s shoulder instead of his chest. “But really, c’n we just go to sleep for now?” The dim cloud curtain overhead is making him tired, and the fact that they’d driven for ages beforehand isn’t exactly helping. Crane puts away the remaining lobster and Lewis’ untouched salad willingly, and they crawl into bed together. 


	31. Chapter 31

Come morning, Lewis is woken up at what he first assumes is an ungodly hour because it’s still dark before he remembers where they are. Crane isn’t in the bed anymore, but there’s a crack of golden light underneath the door. He’s almost asleep again when the door swishes open silently and Crane creeps out, fully dressed.

 

Upon seeing Lewis’ eyes open, Crane grimaces. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he says in a hushed tone as he bends to grab his leather backpack and slings it over his shoulders. “I was just going to leave you a note. It’s about nine am right now, I’ve gotta head out and do my job. I’ll be back here by dinner time, I hope,” he checks the clock inside the compass before setting it back in his pants pocket. “Feel free to explore anywhere you like. I left one of Titanium’s cards on the nightstand, so go wherever you want. You don’t have to hide anywhere here, nobody’s out to get you on _this_ planet.”

 

“S’fine.” Lewis mumbles, still half asleep. “Love you. Good luck.” He turns over and shuts his eyes again, smiling slightly as Crane’s hand runs lightly across his shoulder. Then the light is out and Crane’s gone.

 

Lewis sleeps in another hour, finding it incredibly difficult to rouse himself in the weird twilight of Vitessence. Finally he gets himself to wake up properly, and leaves the hotel room as soon as possible, not even waiting for his hair to dry from his shower.

  
The streets of this planet aren’t exactly streets, more like enclosed glass tunnels, lit with a long string of small glowing lights. It’s very beautiful, but at the same time, incredibly strange. Lewis can’t shake the idea that he’s having a dream still, that he never woke up at all.

 

He wanders through the city for most of the morning, stopping in at an anonymous café for lunch, browsing through shops and grocery stores aimlessly. Around three in the afternoon (or at least, what he judges to be three in the afternoon by his watch – who knows the time is on this planet), he finds himself entering a small, divey looking bar, dimly lit by the same small lights as those in the tunnels. Even though he knows he probably shouldn’t be drinking, Lewis orders a whiskey and coke, purposely using his own card instead of the one provided by Titanium. He’d like to have a drink on the fucker, but there’s also a treacherous hint of fear that if he starts spending too much of Titanium’s money, it’ll get taken out on Crane. He knows it’s stupid to even worry about Titanium noticing a dent in his finances, but still. He’d rather just pay for himself, at least for now.

 

He sits and looks around. It’s the closest to lack of luxury he could find, and even still it’s nice. Dimly lit maybe, but well swept and warm, with nice curtains and tables scattered about. It’s fairly empty at this time of afternoon, but there are a few people scattered about, nibbling bar food. He gets the sense that these are the poor class of this planet, but even still they’re dressed strangely. One man has flowers in his beard and is wearing a waist-length fur coat, with tiny white shorts and thigh-high black boots, a woman on the other side of the bar is wearing a floor-length totally clear plastic dress over a set of three magenta pasties that just barely cover what needs covering, Lewis suddenly feels... both overdressed and underdressed. He wonders if he should start wearing his clothes inside out or pinned up funny when the door opens, and in walks an unbelievably, refreshingly _ordinary_ looking man.

 

Clearly of Asian descent with his dark pointed eyes and sharp features, his black hair is combed back into a sleek professional hairdo and his burgundy suit is tailored to his tall, trim frame. From the point of his nose to the leather gloves on his hands to the mirror-polished dress shoes on his feet, he looks like a man made of daggers.

 

His eyes only pause on Lewis for a bare moment before they flick away and he shrugs off his overcoat, a knee-length black wool coat, and hangs it on a hook near the door. He adjusts the buttons on the wrists of his gloves, straightens his suit coat, and strides on long slender legs over to the bar with the air of a man with purpose. Lewis finds himself staring like an idiot as the stranger takes a seat at a stool at the very end of the bar and takes a tiny unmarked black book from an inside pocket along with a very fancy gold and black pen, and he starts to write something.

 

Since the guy is the only one Lewis isn’t slightly embarrassed to look at, he finds himself studying him out of the corners of his eyes. He wonders idly if he’s some kind of restaurant critic, writing a review or something. There’s certainly an unmistakable sense of purpose to the other man’s movements. The rest of the people at the bar (and there aren’t very many, this early in the afternoon), are either wandering about aimlessly or very seriously, very obviously focused on getting as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. The dark-suited man is doing neither, seemingly entirely involved in whatever he’s writing. He hasn’t even ordered a drink.

 

Lewis downs the rest of his own drink and orders another one, idly, not sure exactly what else he’s meant to be doing. He sneaks another glance at the man with the notebook, and then twitches his eyes away immediately. It looks like the other man’s noticed him watching.

 

His head raises up and he looks over at Lewis, down his long nose. Lewis can’t help but compare him to a deer in his own mind, his movements are very similar.

 

The man observes Lewis blush without changing his expression. He’s very adamantly not making eye contact now, staring blushingly down at his drink. He gestures at the bartender without a word, and snaps his book closed so loudly that Lewis flinches. Slipping down off his stool, the man draws nearer to Lewis and slides onto the stool one away from him, so there’s a respectful distance between them.

 

“I like your horns,” are the first words out of the man’s mouth. His voice is a deep baritone, almost as deep as Crane’s voice, but where Crane’s voice carries a texture with it of years of bottled regret and anger, this man’s voice is slick and smooth and cold like the surface of an undisturbed pond in winter. And then, suddenly, he asks, “Are you running from something?”

 

“No? Why, are you?” Lewis gives him an honestly confused look before he realizes, oh yeah, he is technically running from Titanium. But that feels far away here, and he figures it’s probably better not to bring up the whole ‘escaped prisoner/zoo exhibit’ of it all. Having been somewhat given permission by the other man talking to him, Lewis studies him properly. He has a young-looking, confident, slightly feminine face, impossible to read.

 

Ignoring Lewis’ rebuttal of the question, the man accepts a soda water from the bartender and sips it before saying, “In that case you might want to slow down on the drinks. It’s only two pm.” He sets his glass down and offers a leather-clad hand for a shake. “Iwamoto,” he introduces himself as Lewis accepts his handshake. “Yasu,” he ammends right after.

 

“Lewis Black,” He says, shaking his hand. “I’m not getting drunk, just trying to figure out what to do around here. My partner’s on a business trip and I’m at loose ends.” Actually, he might be a little tipsy – he’s not sure he’d be talking to the man otherwise. But he’s bored, and the guy seems friendly enough.

 

“You don’t happen to know the area well, do you?” Lewis asks.

 

“Not terribly,” Yasu folds his elbows on the bar in front of him. “I’ve been here once or twice on business myself, but I usually stick to my hotel room. I only ventured out today because... Well, I never have. I thought I should.”

 

He leans in a little as if sharing a secret, his lips spreading into a small smile. “Between you and me, this is the only building I could find that didn’t feel like a museum. The people here have got to be insane to live in a place like this.”

 

Lewis laughs. “Museums I’m fine with. This is like… I dunno, a gilded palace or something. Insane is right, though.”

 

He leans on the bar, unconsciously turning towards Yasu, asking, “What kind of business are you in?” Internally he winces – he’s crap at small talk and with the kind of suit the other man’s wearing, there’s no way his work is anything Lewis would know about. Oh well, he’s made his bed.

 

“Sales,” Yasu says vaguely, waving his hand dismissively and taking another sip of his soda water. “It’s not very interesting. I’m sure there’s a more interesting story about your horns. I’ve never seen anything like them on a- you are human, aren’t you? They’re... beautiful.”

 

“Thanks,” Lewis is a little distrustful. He’s not exactly enthusiastic about getting hit on in a bar at 2 pm. And the attention to his horns is a little unsettling. They might be unusual, but he can’t help thinking he’s seen far stranger in the hotel alone. Still, he answers Yasu, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He could be misinterpreting. “Anyway, it’s not a good story – I just have ‘em. I’m human, though, yeah. From Earth. How about you?”

 

Yasu’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re from Earth too?” he says quickly. “I never meet anyone else from Earth. It seems so rare. I feel like a freak sometimes when I say I’m from Earth.”

 

At first Lewis is surprised by the other man’s enthusiasm, but then he runs down the list of people he’s met out here. Aside from Crane and Barty, he still doesn’t really know anyone other than his coworkers and some regulars at his restaurant, but now that he thinks of it, he’s never heard anyone say they’re from Earth. He tends not to think about it much anymore – why would he? Other than explaining Earth customs to Crane there’s no real point, without anyone else to get it. But here’s someone who will.

 

“I never realized it but you’re right, it is kinda rare… what part? When did you leave? Do you get to go back?” Suddenly Lewis is swept up in a rush of homesickness and kinship with Yasu. He breaks off with a laugh. “Sorry, I’m interrogating you.”

 

Yasu smiles warmly. “I grew up in Hokkaido, in the mountains. I didn’t meet a lot of people,” he says, swirling his drink and sipping it again. “I left twelve years ago, but I go back to visit my parents every year. If you’re hoping to hitch-hike back home, I’m not returning for several months.” he nudges Lewis’ elbow with his own playfully.

 

“Yeah, Japan’s a little out of my way.” Lewis laughs. “I’m from Iowa,” He’s forgotten his drink by now, turning on his stool towards Yasu. “To be honest I hadn’t even left the States before I came out here.” He admits, grinning wryly. “Big difference, right? Did you travel a lot on Earth, too, or?”

 

Yasu shakes his head with a little laugh. “The only traveling I ever did was from my family’s home in the mountains to the farmer’s market half a mile away. My parents were too old to make the trip safely, so when I was 10 years old they decided I was mature enough to walk the mountain paths alone and sell our eggs and buy groceries. As soon as I graduated to adulthood, I skipped the “move out of your parents’ home” phase and moved right off the planet. I didn’t even speak English at first.”

 

Languages are another thing Lewis has never thought of, and he feels a little dumb for not questioning the fact that most people he’s met have spoken English. He finds himself studying Yasu more closely, interested to find out how a provincial kid from the mountains turned into the sharp-suited, urbane man in front of him.

 

“It’s a whole other world, right? Well, I mean, obviously.” Lewis blushes. “But I mean… I’m from a crap small town in the Midwest, and you get out here and it’s like… who could have imagined all this?” He waves his hands vaguely at the surrounding bar, the city, the planet. “Why’d you leave?” He asks, hoping the answer isn’t similar to the ones Crane gives to that question. Or his own, for that matter.

 

“After spending nineteen years traveling the same mountain path and seeing nothing else, you start to go a little stir crazy,” Yasu chuckles. “I wanted to see the world, at least, but then I was given the opportunity to ferry out to Mars, and from there I just kept planet hopping. I started making money, and then I started investing money- I’m nowhere near as well off as the people who live here,” he casts a sideways glance at a stiffly-moving newcomer in the bar who appears to be wearing a dress made out of solid gold. “But I’ve got my own small fortune.”

 

Lewis has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the way Yasu says “small fortune”, but he’s more interested in the planet hopping. He loves Crane’s stories and descriptions of different worlds, and he’s always hungry for more.

 

“What’s the weirdest planet you’ve been to?” He asks, leaning forward.

 

“Paxaka,” Yasu says, without skipping a beat.

 

He goes into a detailed description of a planet with almost no gravity, walking around in shoes made of literal metal on magnetized floors, where the native six-armed humanoid species had wings growing out of where their ears should have been.

 

They talk at length about Earth, about other planets Yasu has visited, he asks Lewis about his career and where he lives and remarkably never once asks about family. Lewis had been dreading the inevitable “so do you have a family?” small talk question, but as minute after minute passes, it seems Yasu asks about literally everything but his family.

 

Yasu describes what the mountains are like, Lewis describes what its like to swim in a pond, and before long the conversation twists into deeper more meaningful subjects. Yasu wants to know what Lewis wants to do with his life, Lewis asks Yasu if he’s married - which subsequently leads into Yasu revealing that he’s gay, and they discuss the nature of how far gay rights have come. Yasu explains Shintoism and how it contrasts with Buddhism, Lewis describes Christianity and they laugh together over the vast differences in the religions.

 

And then Lewis realizes with a start, it’s almost five PM.

 

“Shit, I gotta get going,” He reaches for his jacket, pretty sure he can remember the way back to the hotel, but not wanting to take any chances. He’s probably not going to be seeing a lot of Crane in the next few days, so he doesn’t want to be late.

 

“Here, I don’t know how long you’re gonna be in the area, but I’m here for a week and a half, maybe more. If you want, I can give you my comm number, so we can maybe try and figure out what’s fun to do around here?” Lewis grabs a napkin from the bar and is charmed in spite of himself when Yasu hands him a pen. He quickly jots down his number and shakes Yasu’s hand.

 

“It was real nice meeting you, man.” He says, genuinely hoping it’ll happen again.

 

“Likewise,” Yasu gives him a warm smile. Lewis tries not to notice the way the man swivels on his barstool and leans back against the bar to watch him go. 


	32. Chapter 32

It takes him almost forty minutes to make his way back to the hotel. He gets lost twice, has to blushingly ask a leggy man wearing a stiff dress in the shape of an inverted triangle, for directions, and finally the hotel looms in the distance.

 

He’s out of breath by the time he makes it up to the room, and he finds that the smashed potted plant has been cleaned up and replaced on the desk. Crane’s bag is by the door, but he’s not in the room. The bathroom door is open just a crack, with the sound of running water inside. Crane must be in the shower, the standing glass stall in the corner that is almost as big as Crane’s whole bathroom back home.

 

Dropping his own bag next to Crane’s, Lewis heads to the bathroom door, knocking as he opens it. Now that he’s slightly recovered from the opulence of the hotel (and the rest of the city, thus far), he’s almost itching to try out the huge bathtub. Crane’s shower is standing only, and he hasn’t been able to soak in a tub for months. And if Crane wants to join him, so much the better.

 

“Sorry – I got lost on the way back. How was your work?” He says, raising his voice over the hiss of the shower, addressing himself to Crane’s naked back.

 

“Eh,” Crane shrugs. Lewis can see a brownish tint to the water washing around his feet. Blood, probably. There’s a reason Crane won’t turn to face him as he scrubs his face. “Not very successful. I can see why we’re going to be here a while. Did you have fun wandering around?”

 

“Yeah,” Lewis says, heart sinking. Somehow he’d known Crane would be beat up as soon as he heard the shower, but he’d hoped he was wrong. Now he perches on the edge of the tub, waiting to see the extent of the damage.

 

“D’you want dinner? I can order it,” He doesn’t want to leave the bathroom – doesn’t want to leave Crane alone – but he’s not sure exactly how much space his lover needs.

 

“We’ve got leftovers in the fridge. Have you eaten anything all day because you didn’t eat dinner last night,” Crane turns off the water and grabs the towel he’d hung over the glass rim of the shower, and he tugs it over his head to dry off.

 

When he finally faces Lewis, the only real damage to him is a set of three deep scratches on his face, and a few missing whiskers. The skin is red and irritated, and they’re still bleeding slightly. He sees Lewis wince and he tries to shrug it off. “I got slapped by a lady with the most wicked nails,” he says, stepping out of the shower as he dries off his back and belly.

 

It’s more a wince of relief than anything – Lewis had been fearing something worse. He nods, getting to his feet and crossing the tile floor, resting his hand on Crane’s shoulder.

 

“I got some food, don’t worry,” He says quietly. “Want to talk about it?”

 

“Talk about your food?” Crane teases, making it clear he’d rather not talk about what Lewis really meant. “Sure, that sounds exciting. Tell me all about your food while you help me disinfect this, would you?”

 

“Of course this place would have disinfectant,” Lewis mutters under his breath, going to rummage in the large cabinet next to the tub. He finds not only a tube of antibiotic gel but an entire first aid kit, well stocked and attractively packaged. Turning, he waves the kit back at Crane, giving him a wry smile.

 

“Check it out, we’ve got everything. Anyway, you probably don’t wanna hear about ‘rabbit food’, but I did have a very nice vegetable curry, and I didn’t even spend an entire paycheck’s worth of money on it. And yes, I used the expense account.” He adds in response to Crane’s look.

 

They sit on the edge of the tub, chatting idly about their days (Lewis leaves Yasu out for now) while Lewis disinfects and covers the scratches with an adhesive gauze patch. They take their dinners out onto the balcony and soak in the hot tub in the nude, admiring the beautiful scenery through the glass as they chat and play footsie under the bubbles. They make love in the jets, giggling like children every time they’re tickled.

 

Dried off and in bed (naked still, who needs clothes) they pick a movie on TV with a lot of debating and barely watch it anyway in favor of cuddling and and quiet talking. They fall asleep on top of the covers facing the wrong direction on the bed.

 

Lewis wakes to find Crane already gone, a note on the bedside table promising he’ll try to be home at the same time, the blankets taco’d over his body, and a text on his comm from Yasu.

 

_I looked up a few places we could check out and I found a museum that details the history of the planet. I’m free at two if you’re as interested as I am to learn about how these people got so strange._

 

Lewis rolls over slowly, fumbling for the light. The ever-present darkness and comfortable bed make it difficult to wake up, and he’s glad Yasu wants to meet him in the afternoon. Hopefully he’ll be less groggy then. Rubbing at his eyes, he types out _sounds good. do you always text entire novels_ and hits send, cocooning himself back in the blankets, facing the right way again. He dozes for another few minutes before his comm buzzes again, and he finally rouses himself properly.

  
After a blissfully hot bath and some time spent poking into the various drawers and cabinets in the hotel room (Lewis having mostly gotten over his initial paralysis about the room, although he still feels nervous every time he touches something), he heads downstairs and wanders around the city again, trying to wake himself up.

 

He’s a little bit late to the museum – while Yasu’s directions were precise, the city’s easy to get turned around in. By the time he arrives, he sees Yasu leaning against one of the fluted pillars at the front of the building, wearing another stylish dark suit. Lewis nods and waves, feeling oddly under-dressed in his slightly oversized sweater and jeans. But Yasu greets him with that same friendly smile, and leads him up the marble stairs, talking quietly.

 

They learn that the planet was first inhabited by brave souls who lived underground after fleeing a dictator from a nearby planet, and they started building from underground up, that nobody has set foot on the surface of the planet in 25 generations, that apparently they’re in the middle of what they’re calling their Renaissance.

 

Passing from room to room, they pay more attention to one another than the exhibits. “Fashion through the ages” is much less interesting than laughing quietly together at the fashion walking around them. They get lunch together (On Yasu, he insists) and Lewis learns that apart from fish, Yasu doesn’t eat meat. It’s refreshing to find another vegetarian, even if he isn’t 100% strict.

 

Spending days with Yasu is making it more bearable to wait for Crane to come home every night. Crane will sometimes return with new bruises or cuts, but he doesn’t pay them much mind and asks that Lewis doesn’t fuss over them. It’s stressful for the poor man to wait for his lover to come home so he can catalog the damage he’s helpless to prevent. Of course he worries that one day he won’t come home, but this planet doesn’t seem like a likely deathbed, and besides Crane is very capable. At least, he assumes. He’s never seen him fight.

 

Every day he and Yasu find a new place to go. They find a spa, and check out a bookstore, they go clothes shopping together- mostly just to laugh at eachother when the other comes out of the dressing room wearing clothing made of plastic or beads or with entire parts missing. Sometimes they just sit and talk for hours on a bench in some park, watching the snow swirl outside the glass domes around them. Yasu reveals much to Lewis’ surprise and delight that he’s very good at impressions, and will entertain his friend with perfect recounts of something he heard on the news, or he’ll parrot a rude passerby in their voice exactly. He tells Lewis how he used to get in trouble as a child when he’d change his voice around the house to prank his parents.

 

Lewis finds himself really liking Yasu, although he’d never have expected it. He’s friendly and entertaining, albeit in a reserved way, and their similar experiences make it easy to relate to him. But more than just connecting on shared interests, he comes to enjoy the other man’s calm, focused personality, his even speech, his eagerness to explore and wander, the way he always has an interesting story or comment but never dominates the conversation. And while sometimes Lewis gets the vibe that Yasu is looking for more out of their relationship, he never acts disrespectful or disappointed, even when Lewis casually mentions that he has a boyfriend. It’s easy.

 

It takes Lewis a little while to tell Crane about his new friend – he’s never hidden it exactly, but it seems disloyal in a way to remind Crane that he’s actually having a vacation while his lover is being whacked around (Lewis still doesn’t know the details of the work Crane’s doing, but if Crane wants to keep his mouth shut about it, he won’t push the issue). He can’t help noticing the way Crane’s being worn down, the bags under his eyes. Lewis figures a lot of it is not having a day off – if he were forced to work Crane’s hours at his restaurant, a job he actually enjoys, he’d be strained too. He doesn’t want to make it worse.

 

But when he does bring Yasu up, Crane seems genuinely interested, and inquires eagerly about what they’ve been doing together. Lewis hopes his stories about museums and markets and restaurants are a break from the stress Crane’s under, instead of rubbing it in more.

 

One day, about a week and a half after they arrived on Vitessence, while Lewis is wandering through an artificially lit hydroponics park with Yasu, a thought strikes him.

 

“When I first met you, you said you were here on business, right? Do you know how long you’re actually going to stay?"

 

“I’m glad you asked, I was meaning to bring it up,” Yasu says as he purchases a paper cone of sugar peanuts from a brightly-dressed vendor. He offers the cone to Lewis and waits for him to take a handful before they continue walking. “I’ve been extended. I’m supposed to be making a business deal, that’s why I’m not available mornings. It looks like I’ll be here another week or more before I get to go home.”

 

“That’s convenient,” Lewis says, somewhat relieved. “I mean, it sucks that your trip got extended, but it sounds like you still have a lot of free time to relax, too, so…” And also, he’s not exactly sure what he’d be doing if Yasu left. Probably the same thing, but it wouldn’t be as interesting or enjoyable.

 

“I don’t know how much longer we’re staying. I don’t even think Crane knows, honestly. It’s hard to tell with him, though,” Lewis can’t help sighing a little. He’s known for a long time that Crane’s job doesn’t supersede him, that it’s necessary and not by choice, and that with the new cruiser Crane’s actually making steps towards paying off his debt, but it’s impossible not to chafe under the pressure of it sometimes. Not just because he misses his partner, the apartment, his own work, his friends at the restaurant, but because he’s worried for Crane. Yasu makes it a lot easier, but by this point he’s ready to go home.

 

Yasu, reading the tension and unhappiness in Lewis face, stops them both at a bench. “Crane is your boyfriend,” he says evenly, making sure he’s not incorrect. “Do you realize your whole mood changed when you mentioned his name? You look sad now. Is your... relationship with him okay?”

 

Surprised, Lewis looks up at Yasu. “Yeah, it’s good! I mean, it’s not perfect, obviously, but we love each other, and 9 times out of 10 things are really, really good. Probably the best relationship I’ve ever had. But his job is…” He has to think, wondering how much he can safely reveal.

 

“He hates his work, and it’s hard on him,” He finally says. “His boss is a nightmare, and there’s long hours, especially on this trip, and I can see it grinding him down, but he can’t quit. I’m worried about him, but I don’t know how to help, and he’s not good at letting me. And, I mean, it’s kinda selfish but I do really miss him when he’s gone. At home it’s not so bad, because he’s not so busy, and I have my own work and our place, but here… well, no offense, man, but I’d rather not be here.”

 

“None taken, it’s not my planet,” Yasu gives a light-hearted chuckle, but his smile quickly fades. “I don’t think it’s selfish of you to miss him. If he isn’t making you a priority... well, that doesn’t sound like a very healthy relationship to me. I wouldn’t know from experience, I’ve never... been in a relationship. But I know what I’d like if I was in one, and I know how I’d treat my partner. Having a frustrating job isn’t an excuse for being neglectful.”

 

“Well, I mean, it’s not his fault. He knows I don’t like it, but… I dunno, it’s kind of a difficult situation to explain. But it’s not like he actually wants to put his job first. It just sort of… has to happen. It sucks, but there’s not much either of us can do about it. The part that kills me is I can’t do anything to make it easier,” Lewis is surprised by how open he’s being about this with someone he just met a week or so ago, but Yasu’s a good listener. He’s surprised by the fact that he hasn’t been in a relationship before, but then again, he was surprised by Crane as well.

 

Yasu shakes his head with a click of his tongue. “Maybe he’s hiding something from you,” he says, and chuckles when Lewis gives him a searching, slightly afraid look. “Not anything too serious, I just mean... Well, if he won’t let you help. Maybe he’s keeping something from you.”

 

Lewis shakes his head. “He wouldn’t,” He says firmly, forcing down the fear that curls around his gut. Crane wouldn’t. Well, he might, but he’d do it out of some dumb misplaced attempt at protecting Lewis. Which… is still keeping secrets, and still not something Lewis likes. He shakes his head again, trying to displace the seeds of doubt planted there. He’s being stupid. Crane just doesn’t want to talk about it. He has to stop being so distrustful.

 

“Anyway, this'll be easier when we get back home,” He hopes Yasu will take the hint. His well-intentioned questions are hitting a little too close to the bone.

 

“Wouldn’t he?” Yasu says softly, and puts his hand on Lewis’ knee.

 

Immediately, Lewis draws back, jerking his knee away from Yasu’s hand, flushing with anger and disappointment. God fucking dammit. “No,” He says flatly, standing. “And I think I should go.”

 

“Lewis,” Yasu shoots to a stand after him, peanuts spilling on the ground. Leather-clad fingers close gently around Lewis hand, halting his retreat. Lewis doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t turn to look at the other man, adamantly facing him with his back.

 

“I’m sorry,” Yasu says, his voice more fragile and unsure than Lewis has ever heard it. “It’s just... I don’t make... many friends. I make business deals that... make a lot of people angry. I’m not very practiced with friendship. I don’t always know the right things to say, but I know I want you to be happy. And I’m... worried. I just want you to be safe.”

 

Lewis’s face goes blank. He closes his eyes slowly, letting out a long breath. Yasu’s hand is warm on his wrist despite the leather glove. Finally Lewis turns, gently removing his hand from Yasu’s loose grip. He almost regrets facing Yasu – the other man’s dark eyes are filled with sincere regret. He’s never had to turn anyone down before, especially someone he truly does like. And he's touched by the way Yasu cares. But....

 

“I get it. And thanks,” He says quietly. “But I really am okay. And… I really am just your friend.”

 

Yasu squints slightly and breaks eye contact, looking down at his shoes. “Right,” he says tearfully, taking a step back. His cheeks are turning red. “I... need to go. I’m sorry.” He turns on his heel before Lewis can say anything else and walks very quickly away. Lewis can only see the back of his head, but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s wiping away tears as he retreats.

 

Lewis sinks down on the bench, his head in his hands, staring down at the ground. His head is a whirlwind of horror and guilt, fear and frustration. And the worst part is, he can’t tell Crane. He can’t go to his lover for comfort, because first of all, you don’t tell your boyfriend that the man you’ve been hanging out with for a week and a half has come on to you and you still want to be his friend, and second, this entire thing grew out of his frustration with Crane.

 

No, not with Crane, with Crane’s situation. He has to keep reminding himself of the difference. But now… Lewis clutches angrily at his horns, gritting his teeth. It’s a long time before he can get himself together enough to go back to the hotel room.

 

He’s been making an effort to get back before Crane since the first night, but this time he arrives almost four hours before Crane’s usually back. He tries to watch tv, but he’s never had any patience for it, and with all the comforts and distractions of home packed up in the backseat of Crane’s cruiser, there’s nothing to keep him from stewing in his doubts and unhappiness. Finally he curls up angrily in the middle of the large, beautiful bed and falls into an uneasy sleep.


	33. Chapter 33

Woken by Crane’s return, he wobbles groggily into the bathroom to find him nursing a black eye with a wet wash cloth. “It’s no big deal,” he waves Lewis off before he can even open his mouth to express his concern. “They’re all just little bumps and bruises. Nothing to worry over. Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

 

A twinge of guilt runs down Lewis’s spine. He hates so much that he can’t say anything. All he wants right now is for Crane to hold him and tell him it’s okay. But that’s not an option. And Crane’s quick denial of the importance of the dark bruise around his eye, when his face is still sporting dark red scratches and his hands are bloody and scabbed, sends a horrible stab of doubt into Lewis’s heart. Crane is coming home injured every day. And he’s avoiding the subject at every single opportunity. And Lewis has the gall to feel unhappy that his wounded lover isn’t comforting him about turning down another man.

 

“It’s hard to stay awake here,” Lewis finally says, with a laugh that sounds forced even to his own ears. “Anyway, do you want to stay in tonight? I’m still… I’m still really tired. If that’s okay.” He tries to hide the ragged edge in his voice, the note of unhappiness, fear, doubt, guilt. Better that Crane thinks he’s lazy than realize how upset he is right now. “Sorry,” He adds quietly, stroking his lover’s ears back tenderly, unwilling to look into Crane’s intense green eyes for fear of spilling his guts.

 

“We can stay in,” Crane arches up on his tiptoes to smooch Lewis’ cheek. “Just let me take a quick shower and I’ll join you in the bedroom.”

 

“I could shower with you,” Lewis offers, trying to reforge some of the intimacy they’ve lost over the last few days. They haven’t made love since the hot tub, and that was several days ago- more than a week ago in fact.

 

Crane has been sort of shying away from physical contact, which makes sense given his little injuries, but he responds awfully quickly with, “No, that’s okay. Why don’t you go order us some dinner off the menu and pick a movie or something. I’ll be out in two shakes.”

 

“Sure,” Lewis says, trying to play casual. He kisses Crane back quickly and heads out of the bathroom, barely able to close the door normally instead of slamming it. He’s desperate for Crane to hold him in the careful, loving, trusting way he’s become accustomed to. He doesn’t even really want sex – he just wants Crane’s hands playing with his hair and horns, stroking at his ears, Crane’s muzzle rubbing against his neck, Crane’s arms wrapped around his body. He wants to be held again. And Crane hasn’t been willing in the past few days.

 

Unbidden, Yasu’s words echo in his ears – _Having a frustrating job isn’t an excuse for being neglectful._ Lewis shakes his head violently, his blonde curls flying around his face. Crane isn’t being neglectful. He’s being distant, yes, but he knows from Cynda – hell, he knows from himself that distance is sometimes the only way to survive. But there’s still some dark corner of his heart, that treacherous part of him, that’s whispering “he’s tired of you, he’s going to leave you on this dark planet, he doesn’t want you anymore.”

 

Lewis forces his mind blank again. He orders dinner for them both, he flattens down his panic and loneliness, he forces himself to relax his tensed shoulders. By the time Crane returns from the bathroom, clad in a loose tank top and low-slung pajama pants, Lewis is accepting the room service from another scantily-clad bellhop and turning back to his lover with the most inexpressive face he can manage.

 

They eat dinner and watch the movie, Lewis flat on his belly and Crane sitting up crosslegged with his fish in his lap. Crane doesn’t brush Lewis off if he reaches over and touches his thigh or knee affectionately, but he doesn’t touch him back. It probably has to do with the way his hands are all bandaged up. It has to do with that, Lewis won’t entertain any other possibility.

 

Crane doesn’t spoon him that night, nor does he request that Lewis spoon him. It’s the first time in a while Lewis can remember them going to sleep back-to-back, and it makes the dark corner of his heart feel bigger and darker.

 

Come morning, Crane is gone _again_ before Lewis wakes up. This time the note on the nightstand is even shorter, and he doesn’t promise to be home by dinner. In fact, he says he’s not sure he’ll be home that night at all, which doesn’t help Lewis’ worry. There’s also no text from Yasu, which is another thing he’s grown accustomed to waking up to, which also doesn’t bode well. Nothing feels right, nothing is going okay. The oppressive darkness outside is closing in on Lewis, sitting totally alone in a hotel room too fancy for him ever to feel comfortable.

 

Turning decisively away from Crane’s note and his silent comm, Lewis curls up in the center of the suddenly gigantic bed, wrapping the stupid golden blankets around himself, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He can’t think of any reason to be awake this particular morning.

 

When he’s finally awakened by his internal clock, around noon, he specifically spends another twenty minutes trying get back to his wonderful, easy, dreamless sleep. But it’s no use – by this point in the day he should be joking and cuddling with Crane, trading harmless insults and barbs, kissing and jabbing at each other, laughing or talking seriously or touching, or, before they left for Vitessence, all three, in a trusting way Lewis had never known before. Or, more recently, he should be out with Yasu, exploring, making fun of things, comparing philosophies and vegetarian recipes and opinions on the things they’re discovering. The absence of both is more devastating than Lewis anticipated.

 

He winds up wandering the avenues of the city by himself, barely even caring about the beautiful scenery outside of the glass tunnels. He’s just walking for the sake of movement, hoping to blunt the sharp panic springing up in almost every corner of his mind.

 

The city feels much bigger, wandering around it without the polite company of Yasu. He’s haunted by the vision of him walking away briskly wiping tears, and replays the scene endlessly in his mind, wondering how he could have done it better. If there was any way to make it out of that situation without making Yasu cry, he probably would have preferred it. And the fact that he’s gone totally quiet only makes Lewis worry more.

 

He wonders if Yasu will leave the planet without talking to him again. If he’ll never hear from him ever again. The thought of the man he’s spent the majority of a couple weeks with - more time than he’s even spent with Crane during this trip - silently slipping out of his life makes his heart ache. His last words “I need to go” ring much hollower in his chest now.

At four PM he finally caves and texts Yasu first. A simple “Hey, you okay?” but hopefully it’ll resonate on a deeper level with the man. Yasu has always been a quick texter, he’s never had to wait more than five minutes for a response, but as five stretch into ten into half an hour with no reply, Lewis can only suspect the worst. He’s _ignoring_ Lewis.

 

At first, this enrages him. He’s trying to be nice, he’s trying to fix what he fucked up and Yasu is just _ignoring_ him?! How insensitive can one guy be!

 

Then he’s worried. What if Yasu isn’t ignoring him, what if he did something to himself? What if Yasu’s feelings for him were so intense that being turned down made him hurt himself, or worse? It’s hard to imagine for Lewis that anybody’s feelings for him would be that serious, but he can’t discount the possibility. He sends another text (I’m sorry, are you okay?) and gets no reply.

 

And it turns back into anger. Did Yasu expect him to just leave his boyfriend for him?! He’s only known him for a couple weeks! Was he hoping Lewis would cheat on Crane with him? What the hell is that guy’s issue?

 

His anger swiftly turns into anguish. How does he always fall into this pattern of being abandoned? What about him makes him so easy to be ignored and neglected? At what point did a cosmic entity hang a sign over his head that reads “For Lease” because that’s the only explanation for how easily people come and go in his life.

 

Slowly, painfully, those old sharp edges come even more into focus – Crane is tired of him. He’s somehow given Yasu a false impression of his interest. Neither is going to give a shit about him in the future. He’s disappointed them both beyond reasonable bounds for pretty much anyone. Now he has to work to stop the constant march of Yasu’s words, compounded by the guilty, painful lack of messages from Yasu on his comm.

 

In the end, lost for anywhere else to go, Lewis stays in the hotel room all day, dozing off as much as possible. The idea of wandering around without Yasu is even more frustrating and upsetting than he thought it would be. So he stays inside, napping the day away, trying to hide in sleep until his lover comes home, although he doesn’t particularly want to face Crane at the end of the day unless by some miracle Crane wants to touch him again.

 

The worst part of it is that Crane keeps his word, in a way – he doesn’t return that night. Lewis waits for him patiently, shouting at himself every few minutes not to be stupid, not to be scared, not to be lonely. It’s no use. He’s spent so much of the last few days curled protectively around himself on the hotel bed, lonely in a way he hasn’t been since the first time that Crane asked if he could kiss him.

 

Lewis buries himself deep in the golden blankets of the opulent bed and forces himself to turn off, to sleep as long as possible, to escape the fear and anger that’re twining unbidden around him, to escape the awful sprouts that have sprung from Yasu’s words to twine around him. Finally he decides he has to get up and start walking again.

 

When Crane finally returns, it’s not until almost noon. He’s looking very dirty, and doesn’t even say hello to Lewis before he slugs into the bathroom. He collapses in the shower, exhausted and sore and curls up under the spray. He doesn’t even hear the door open when Lewis peeks inside, and all the younger man sees is Crane curled around himself on the shower floor, arms around his knees with his face hidden inside.

 

He doesn’t even get anything to eat before he collapses in bed and falls asleep apologizing to Lewis. He’s out like a light for the next twelve hours, and when he wakes up, Lewis is gone. He stretches and winces, rubbing at his eyes and looking around. It’s strange that he wouldn’t be in the room, he looks at the clock to see it’s nearing midnight. Where would he be going so late?

 

Rolling off the bed gracelessly he goes for his comm to text or call Lewis, when he sees Lewis’ comm on the nightstand. Perfect. He heaves a sigh and scrubs his face a little better. Maybe he should just go back to sleep, his sleep schedule will be fucked if he doesn’t. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he feels a little pang of loneliness. He hasn’t been around as much as he could be, this job has been particularly grueling. But he didn’t think Lewis would just leave the room when he’s there, especially so late.

 

Exhausted physically, emotionally and mentally, he just sits there, hoping Lewis will come back eventually. He hangs his head in his hands and tries not to let his thoughts swim around in his head. By the time he hears the door click open, he was nearly asleep upright, and he almost falls over. Whipping his head around to look at the clock, it’s three AM and Lewis is just stumbling inside.

 

“You’re finally back,” he says, a little more bitter than he meant to sound. Mostly he was worried and sad, but it came out sharp. “Where have you even been? It’s a ridiculous hour.”

 

“Out,” Lewis says shortly. He knows he should be nicer – he’s woken Crane up in the middle of the night, for god’s sake – but the note of anger in Crane’s voice strikes a nerve. He’d watched his lover sleep for an hour, struggling not to touch him, to let him rest, alone, like he wanted to be. Finally he couldn’t stand it and went out to wander around again. He’d even left his comm so he didn’t text Yasu again like an asshole. For lack of anything better to do, he’d wound up at a bar, but he’d only had two beers – even in his frustrated state he didn’t want to come home drunk and wake up Crane again. But it looks like he’s done it anyway. He drops his bag on the floor and sighs, rubbing his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“You didn’t,” Crane drops his head into his hands with a sigh. “I’ve been waiting up for you for... three hours now. I would have texted you but,” he gestures to the comm sitting on the bedside table. “I didn’t want to risk looking for you and have you come back while I was out to an empty room so I just... sat here.”

 

He stands up on tired legs and wobbles over to Lewis, opening his mouth and arms at the same time, ready to apologize for snapping with an embrace to boot, but as soon as he gets within three feet, his nose picks up on the sharp, acrid stench of alcohol on Lewis, and he recoils a step back.

 

“You went out to _drink?”_ he says bitterly, dropping his arms immediately. They haven’t had the best track record with Lewis and drinking, and a pit sinks in Crane’s stomach. “Seriously? For christ’s sake, Lewis, there’s a fully stocked minibar in the corner, you didn’t have to leave to get drunk.”

 

The guilt at leaving Crane alone dissolves into irritation at his assumptions. Lewis steps back, glaring.

 

“Okay, first off, I went out because I didn’t want to sit in a room quietly waiting to wake you up for twelve goddamn hours. Second, I’m not drunk, I had two goddamn beers, I’m not even tipsy,” He snaps. “And third, I’m a goddamn adult, and I don’t exactly appreciate being treated like a sixteen year old by my goddamn partner.”

 

Crane’s skin feels icy. He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that they’ve never gotten into an argument like this, and reasonably he should stop it right here before it gets out of hand. But he’s exhausted and sore and cranky and irritable, and it’s all coming together in a perfect storm of indignation.

 

It’s worse, because he doesn’t even really have a reason to be angry. Lewis is right. He is an adult who is allowed to drink, he clearly isn’t drunk, and he has no right to ask Lewis to sit patiently in a room while he sleeps just so that he’s there when he wakes up. But despite knowing all this, he’s still angry. Not necessarily at Lewis directly, but angry in general. At this job, at the fact that he’s seeing Lewis so little, at all the bumps and bruises he’s collecting like an art gallery on his skin, he’s just angry.

 

He should stop the argument here. He knows he should. He should apologize for snapping at Lewis and making assumptions and he should hug him and end it here. But instead of doing any of those things, he spits out the first rancid words on his tongue, “You go out drinking with Yoshi?”

 

Absurdly, despite his frustration, Lewis’s first instinct is to laugh. And then he figures out the intent behind Crane’s words, and all thought of laughter leaves him. After he’s lost his only friend on this shit purgatory planet specifically because he loves Crane and wants to be faithful, even though Crane doesn’t trust him with anything, doesn’t even want to touch him anymore?

 

“It’s Yasu, and thanks for listening to me ever, by the way. And fucking of course I wasn’t drinking with him, because I’m not the huge fucking asshole you apparently think I am,” He snarls, fingers balling up into fists. “I know I’m a fuckup but jesus christ, Crane, I don’t fucking deserve this.”

 

He’s shaking with anger, every muscle tensed. On some level he’s screaming at himself not to do this, not to make things worse, but he can’t help it – all the loneliness and fear and rage and disappointment he’s suppressed for the past few weeks is boiling over, and he can’t stop his stupid mouth from running on.

 

“Anyway, I’m surprised you even noticed I was gone.” He says bitterly.

 

“If that’s a jab at my work, you _know_ that’s not fair,” Crane barks, squaring his shoulders off and pointing viciously with a claw. “If I had a choice of course I wouldn’t be here doing this stupid job instead of home with you. But I’m stuck here busting my ass _literally_ for the man I hate more than anything in the world while you’ve been skipping all over hell and yonder with Yasu! Unlike you, this isn’t a vacation for me!” he gestures wildly to the bruise around his eye and the scabs on his cheek. The anger boils in his gut, mostly directed at himself, at his situation, at Titanium. But Lewis is in whipping distance, so he’s taking the lashing for it.

 

It doesn’t help that, given Lewis’ description of Yasu, he’s a younger, more intelligent, better dressed version of Crane, so he can’t help but feel threatened by him. It’s not that he thinks Lewis would ever cheat on him, but he can’t trust this stranger wouldn’t tempt or seduce him. He dreads to think what would happen if Lewis had to make a choice.

 

“I brought you here to keep you _safe_ ,” Crane reminds him, forcing his voice to quiet down a little bit. “Because if you were in my apartment when Titanium’s men got there, they would have _ripped you apar_ t.”

 

It feels like Crane’s words are physically hitting him – Lewis almost staggers back against the hotel room wall. He knows the truth of everything Crane’s saying. He’s said the exact same things to himself over and over in the past two weeks. Hell, he used it himself to justify Crane to Yasu back in the park. He doesn’t deserve Crane’s anger, sure, but Crane doesn’t deserve his either.

 

“I know,” He mumbles, hanging his head. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Lewis covers his face in his hands, trying to ignore the tears rising in his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” He says again. “I know. I really, really know it’s hard for you. It’s fucking awful. And I didn’t… I just didn’t want to wake you up. Fuck, you deserve the chance to sleep. I don’t want to make this worse for you,” Lewis slumps, letting the furious tension out of his shoulders. He’s still hurting, still aching for some sort of physical contact with Crane, but it’ll have to take a back seat to Crane himself.

 

Watching the anger leak out of Lewis causes Crane’s own to deflate in return. He sighs and sags back down on the bed. “I’m sorry too,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean... I’m sorry. I’ve just been stuck between the biggest dumbest rock in the universe and the hardest place on this planet for the past couple weeks and it’s wearing me thin,” he scrubs his hands over his face. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

 

Wearily, he stands up off the bed and limps slightly over to Lewis. He takes both of Lewis’ hands in his own and squeezes them affectionately, rubbing his thumbs over the backs. “What do you say we brush your teeth and hop into bed because it’s three in the morning and I could probably sleep for another 12 hours to be honest.”

 

Lewis swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut against the tears threatening them. Crane’s hands are so warm, so welcome in his own. “I get it,” He mumbles, “I’m so fucking sorry. I love you so much.” And then, overcome by love and gratefulness and guilt, he reaches out and embraces Crane, clinging to him.

 

The instant Crane sees those big, strong arms coming for him, he knows he’s made a mistake in taking Lewis’ hands. He tries to take a step back away from the oncoming hug, but it’s too late. Those arms wrap tightly around his body and in a split-second several things happen at once.

 

A blinding flash of pain bursts through Crane’s body from Lewis’ embrace. Hot and searing, it ratchets up his spine and down his legs, so violently he thinks he might vomit or black out just from the intensity of the pain.

 

A yowl the likes of which Crane has never emitted in front of Lewis explodes from his lungs. It sounds like a thousand agonized, screaming cats, high-pitched and screeching, the kind that echoes in your years for minutes after.

 

And a reflex takes over. Pure, animal instinct: get away from the pain at all costs. His eyes aren’t even seeing right anymore, it feels like he’s being crushed in half, like he has a thousand hot knives piercing his body. He has to get away at all costs. His claws come out slashing without any thought, and when those arms release him, he drops to the floor like a rock.

 

Moaning, breathing shallowly, pain still rocking through his body in nauseating waves, Crane tries to drag himself away.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty long sorry

At first, Lewis has no idea what’s happened. There’s a horrible screaming yowl from Crane and a flash of pain across his cheek, and suddenly he’s pressed against the far wall and Crane’s whimpering on the floor, scooting backwards away from him.

 

Lewis slowly raises his shaking hand to his face, eyes wide with horror and shock and pain. He can barely breathe. He looks down and there’s bright red blood on his trembling fingers.

 

“Wh- what – ” he stutters, his gaze dropping from his hands to his lover on the ground. “You- you- why did you- ”

 

He raises his hands to his head unconsciously, trailing his own blood through his hair as he tries to suck in air, shuddering. Crane hurt him. The man he loves clawed his face. Lewis sinks down against the wall, unblinking, still in shock. All he can comprehend right now is the stinging pain on his cheek, and Crane’s claws, and Crane’s whimpers of pain, and the fact that something unspeakably horrible has happened that he can’t understand.

 

“Why did you…” he whispers again.

 

Crane is on his hands and knees, fighting the roaring in his ears, wobbling unsteadily as he tries to rise to a stand, but it’s no use. The pain is too intense. He nearly collapses onto his side, catches himself on his elbow and clutches his side with panting, wheezing moans.

 

He’s seeing spots when he opens his eyes, and swings his head around to look hazily at Lewis. He sees a bright spot of red on the blurry shape of his lover, and drops his eyes again, still gulping for air unsuccessfully as he looks down at his extended claws. He tries to draw them back into his fingers where they belong, but the pain rippling through his nervous system has his body on attack mode.

 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chokes out, shaking on his side as he tries to get back up to his hands and knees. “I’m- sorry I’m- sorry- fuck, I didn’t- mean- to- oh fuck.” His mind is awash in wave after wave of blistering pain, too far out into the sea of agony to think rationally. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pants, unable to breathe as deeply as he needs to because of the pain in his side.

 

Lewis shakes his head rapidly, pressing back against the wall, drawing his knees up protectively as Crane struggles to get to his feet. He’s torn between wanting to run to his lover and comfort him and kiss him and help him, and the bright fear and anger and sorrow that’s fogging his vision, the urge to run. He inhales sharply, trying not to shout.

 

“What’d you do that for?!” he finally gasps, his voice cracking. He can’t even think coherently. On some level he’s aware that Crane is deeply, horribly hurt in some way, and that he’s somehow responsible. But he can’t understand it, he can’t figure out what went so horribly wrong.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Crane gasps, still clutching his side. “I didn’t mean to scratch you- it’s a reflex- fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, fuck... Ohhh fuck,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the waves of pain. They’re starting to lessen some, the fog of agony in his brain is just starting to lift enough for him to get real sentences out. “You just agitated an old injury, I’m sorry, I should have warned you- fuck.”

 

He finally staggers sideways into the bed and hauls himself to his feet with the bedpost, one hand still clutched around his side as he pants through his nose. He tries to take a step off the pole, but with his legs trembling as bad as they are it’s a miracle he’s standing at all.

 

“First aid kit, in the bathroom,” he pants, wincing as another spike of pain shoots through him, and he almost doubles over. “Get it- your face- clean your face.”

 

Lewis finally manages to close his eyes and get a proper, shuddering breath. When he opens them it’s like the world has snapped into focus – Crane’s agony is suddenly clearly visible, the way he’s barely able to stand, the way he’s clinging to the bedframe and shaking and clutching at his side.

 

Lewis jumps to his feet, stumbling forward towards his lover. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to – are you – oh fuck, oh my god, please be okay…” He babbles, reaching out before snatching his hand back, terrified of making it worse.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Crane spits out, the pain making his words sharper than he would have liked them to be. “Disinfect your face, I haven’t cleaned my claws in several days,” when Lewis just stands there in front of him like a shaking kitten, he barks, “Go!”

 

That spurs Lewis into action and he rushes to obey, if only to keep Crane from exerting himself. Crane, meanwhile staggers sideways and crawls up onto the bed, mercifully flopping over onto his back and he moans pitifully at the canopy drawn up over him. He wishes he’d never woken up. He wishes he’d stayed asleep and woken in the morning with Lewis already gone, the scent of alcohol washed away in the night, and they’d be right where they’re supposed to be. This night couldn’t possibly get worse.

 

In the bathroom, Lewis drops to his knees in front of the cabinet, fishing out the first aid kit with shaking hands. He fumbles at it for a moment, almost dropping it before he can open the wrapping. He’s automatically obeying Crane, numb fingers closing around the disinfectant, blinking back tears. And suddenly he realizes that the kit, which was bulging with bandages and painkillers and antibiotics when he first saw it, is almost empty now.

 

He drops the package onto the tile floor, buried under a landslide of guilt and fear. Crane’s really, really hurt. And he hasn’t noticed. Or Crane hasn’t let him notice. No, actually, Crane has hidden it from him. It can’t be an old injury. He knows better. It has to be something new. And Crane’s _lying_ to him about it.

 

Lewis slumps, burying his face in his hands, trying desperately not to cry at the same time he feels a cold, bitter anger claw its way down his spine. Yasu was right. He hates it so much, but Yasu was fucking right. Crane is hiding things from him. And hurting him. He takes a deep, rasping breath and leans back against the bathroom wall, staring up at the ceiling, trying to work up the courage to go out into the main room again.

 

It takes several minutes to wobble back out of the bathroom. Crane is draped over the bed like a corpse, still panting a little, but looking a lot more lucid. He even turns his head to look wearily at Lewis, but as soon as he sees his expression of cold indignation, he knows he was wrong about the night not getting worse.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, levering himself up to a sitting position with the arm of his good side, still clutching his ribs on the right side with his other hand. He doesn’t like the way Lewis is looking at him. “I told you, it was an accident, I’m sorry, I would never scratch you on purpose.”

 

“But you’d lie to me,” Lewis says stiffly, cruelly. “Old injury, huh? Funny I never noticed it in the past seven months.” He hates the bitter, venomous tone of his voice, but he’s still speaking, advancing slowly towards the bed where the other man is still hunched over in pain. “But I fucking wouldn’t, would I? Because you’re hiding this shit from me. You’re lying.”

 

Crane can feel his pulse quickening, his tail coiling protectively around his lap and his ears flatten anxiously back. He coils both arms around his waist, his breathing picking back up. “I’m not lying... it is old,” he gasps, unable to make eye contact. “Two... Two days old.”

 

Lewis stops short, squeezing his eyes shut, dropping his head into his hands. His chest is tight with rage and disappointment. He can’t breathe again. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me,” He says in a small strangled voice, clutching at the base of his horns. “Why the fuck did you have to lie to me.”

 

“I didn’t lie,” Crane barks. “I never said I wasn’t hurt. What difference would telling you have made? You would have shoved me into a hospital, which I couldn’t allow because I have to keep doing this _stupid_ job, and it just would have had you worrying every day and I didn’t want to put that on you. This was your chance to explore a new planet and be happy for once and not worry about hiding from Titanium’s goons, I didn’t want this dark cloud over you.”

 

“Fuck you,” Lewis mutters, still covering his eyes with his palms, standing stiffly in the center of the room, every muscle tensed. “Fuck you. You think it’s so fucking easy watching you get beat to shit and watching you try and hide from me and listening to you tell me you don’t need help. You think I’m so fucking stupid. You think I’d put you in a goddamn hospital when I know that shit doesn’t help. You think I haven’t seen this before a thousand times with my sister, like I’m some kind of fucking idiot that thinks you can just run away from this kind of abuse no problem.” His voice is rising in volume slowly, and angry tears are dripping down his cheeks now, stinging in the fresh scratches.

 

“You think it doesn’t fucking kill me that you don’t trust me after all this time? Like I’m some child that’s better off not knowing? I don’t need to be sheltered. And if you think that’s what you’re doing, guess what, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it. This isn’t a vacation for me, asshole, this is a nightmare where you leave in the morning and I spend every day missing you and scared out of my fucking skull that you’re going to come home in a fucking body bag!” Now he’s shouting, dropping his hands to glare at Crane, tears coursing down his face.

 

Crane stares blankly. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. After so many years of taking abuse from Titanium, even though he’s been in a relationship with Lewis for half a year he’s still not used to having someone care about him so hard. Watching Lewis falling apart in front of him is heartbreaking, but he doesn’t know what to say or do. He certainly can’t stand up to comfort him.

 

Dumbly, all he can think to say is, “I didn’t know about your sister.”

 

Truthfully, even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have acted any differently. He hangs his head in his hands. “I’m used to hiding my injuries. I’ve done it my whole life. I had to hide them when my parents hurt me or I’d get in trouble, I have to hide them from Titanium because if he sees them he just rubs salt in the wounds - sometimes literally. So yeah, I hid it from you too, cause you apparently do this if I let you know.” he gestures at Lewis bitterly.

 

Lewis grits his teeth, his face screwed up in pain. His heart hurts. The flood of anger and pain is drowning him. Crane seems so small and far away.

 

“So show me,” He says harshly. “Stop fucking hiding it and show me what happened.”

 

Crane shrinks down. That is the last thing he wants to do. “You don’t want to see it,” he shakes his head. “It’s... you just don’t want to see it.”

 

“Don’t you dare tell me what I want,” Lewis snarls, wiping his tears away furiously. “You don’t get to fucking do that to me again.”

 

“Fine, I don’t want to show you then,” Crane barks defensively, his hackles raising and his words come out vicious. “If you fall apart into woe-is-me’s at the mention of an injury I imagine you’d melt into a puddle of tears if you actually saw the stupid thing!”

 

Lewis has to stop himself from lunging forward and raising Crane’s shirt himself. He can’t seem to get enough air. He feels like if he could catch his breath, if he could just stop himself from speaking, if he could just unclench his fists and calm his pounding heart, all this would go away. He could hold Crane in his arms and tell him he loves him. Except, no, he couldn’t. Because Crane would flinch away.

 

“You’re still treating me like a child.” He says, able to keep his voice even but unable to keep the note of bitterness out of it. “Show me. I fucking guarantee I’ve seen worse.”

 

“This is some kind of pissing contest for you? You wanna compare my bruises and scars to your history to see if you can maintain your poor me’s?” Crane says acidly, standing up too quickly, but he only winces at the spike of pain that shoots down his thigh. He grabs his loose shirt with one hand and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion.

 

He reveals a medley of purple and black bruises, thick and yellowing at the edges, from the top of his ribcage all the way down his hip. How much is hidden by his pants is impossible to tell. Two raised and blackened gashes slice through the bruising, scabbed over days ago. The bruise is hellish, taking up half of his entire torso, burning hot on his skin since it happened.

 

“How do I rank? Scale of one to _your sister,_ am I fucked up enough for you?! Because if this isn’t fucking enough for you, give it 24 hours and I’ll come back with something new! This fucking job is killing me, no matter how bad this asshole hurts me I have to keep going back to close this _fucking deal_ for Titanium, because if I fail, he’ll hurt me a million times worse than this guy ever could. No matter if he tosses me down a flight of stairs and fractures my ribs and has his biggest guy step on it, I have to go back! Bruises are better than dying, you _stupid boy!”_

 

Lewis can’t help flinching at the injury, but Crane’s wrong – he’s seen the same dark bruises, the same spreading contusions and deep scars on Cynda’s skin. He’s caught in a riptide between pity and pain, love and rage. He doesn’t turn his gaze away. He’s stopped crying now, and his eyes feel swollen and painful.

 

“That’s the problem. This _is_ killing you,” Lewis’s voice is hard and flat. “And fuck you for thinking I don’t know that. You think it’s some kind of angst olympics or something when I’m standing here telling you I care about you more than anything in the goddamn universe. And you’re treating me like I don’t – like I can’t understand.”

 

“You must be some kind of mind-reader cause you’re saying what I’m thinking a whole lot more than I am,” Crane throws his shirt on the ground. “The fact of the matter is I’ve been taking this shit for Titanium for two decades - as long as you’ve fucking _been alive_ I’ve been getting the tar beat out of me for him, and I’ve found my own way to deal that’s worked for years! And it sure as hell doesn’t involve your pity or your comparisons.”

 

The words are like a slap in the face. They sting even more than Crane’s claws. _It doesn’t involve you._

 

“So don’t fucking involve me,” Lewis says, finally turning away. “You never have anyway. I’m just your fucking plaything. Give it a home but keep it on a leash. I was better off with Titanium.”

 

The wind is knocked out of Crane with those words. He feels icy and dead, his limbs are made of lead. The rage comes back, slowly at first, but then it boils the lead in his arms and legs and he’s filled with lava. He’s suddenly glad for the distance between them because if he was close enough he would have slapped Lewis across the face.

 

“How _DARE_ YOU?!” he screeches. “Everything I’ve done to try and keep you safe! The nights of sheer terror I’ve spent away from home worrying about your safety and wellbeing! You’ve the gall to tell me I’m your slave driver?! Get out, get the hell out of this room, if you’ve got a love affair with Titanium now catch your sorry ass a taxi and get the fuck off this planet!”

 

“Way ahead of you.” Lewis snaps, grabbing his comm off the bedside table and stalking towards the door, refusing to even glance at Crane. He snatches his bag off the floor and jerks open the door, pausing for a moment, tense and furious and miserable. He wants to say something, he wants to either turn and apologize or deliver some final cruel wounding phrase, but he’s paralyzed. And in the end he just settles for slamming the door, leaving the room without a backwards look.

 

He’s all the way to the elevator before the full impact of what’s just happened – what he’s just done – hits him, and suddenly he’s slumped against the glass wall, hyperventilating, trying not to cry. When the doors open again he’s pathetically grateful for how late it is – the lobby is deserted other than the uninterested-looking desk clerk.

 

He dashes out the front door of the hotel, unaware of anything around him, needing to find a place he can hide and fall apart. Somehow, he’s not sure how he got there, he ends up in a dim alley, crouching on the back stairs of some anonymous building, shaking and sobbing and desperately, desperately alone.

 

After a long time, Lewis manages to raise his head, wipe his eyes, catch his breath. His cheek is still stinging, and his head is aching almost as much as his heart, but he can think again – maybe not so rationally, but still.

 

He stands, shakily, and tries to take stock of his situation. So. He’s back at the same place he was when he was 18 and his first boyfriend Liam decided to head back to Iowa: homeless, alone, lost, miserable, and broke. Except that now he’s on a different planet. Well, he knows how he handled it back then – he got a stranger to buy him a bottle of vodka and got drunk enough to pass out. At least now he’s old enough to buy his own booze.

 

He ends up, by a grotesque trick of memory, at the bar where he first met Yasu. And as he’s carefully, methodically ordering the cheapest and most potent drinks he can, he finds himself reaching for his comm, typing out a message he carefully screens for typos, staring dry-eyed at the screen and hating himself for hitting send.

 

_you were right about me and crane. i’m sorry. i shouldn’t ask this but can you meet me. please._

 

Of course, he gets no reply. Whether that’s because Yasu is still ignoring him, or Yasu is laughing a bitter “I told you so” somewhere, or he’s just plain sleeping because it’s closing in on four AM, it doesn’t really matter. Whatever his reason is, he doesn’t respond to Lewis, and that’s all the motivation he needs to keep drinking.

 

An hour and a few strong drinks later, and his inhibitions are lowered enough to have him crying openly at a bar. Well, openly, as in his head is down in his arms and he looks like a corpse to the rest of the patrons. Which aren’t many.

 

With a tap on his shoulder, he’s informed by the bar owner that they’re closing. And now, suddenly, he has nowhere to go. Checking his comm again, Yasu still hasn’t replied to his text, but he’s desperate. He doesn’t have enough money to afford his own room on this planet, and going back to Crane at this point is not an option. He opens the device and calls Yasu.

 

The phone rings once, twice, three times. He gets a generic voicemail. With tears clouding his eyes, he tries again. It rings once, twice-

 

And then it clicks. “Mh... Lewis? What are you- it’s five in the morning, why are you calling me?” comes the sleepy but blissfully familiar voice of Yasu.

 

Lewis clears his throat, trying to sound normal. Even though it’s basically impossible, especially so early in the morning. “I’m sorry to wake you up, and this is such a fucking terrible thing to do to anyone, but I need some help,” He manages, leaning up against the outside wall of the bar, hunching his shoulders miserably. “And you can say no. But I… Crane and I…” He stops, swallowing hard, choking on his words. What in the hell is he expecting? That the guy he turned down after knowing him for two weeks is going to drop everything at 5 in the damn morning to come to his rescue?

 

“Oh god,” Yasu sounds a lot more lucid now, and Lewis can hear blankets rustling and bed springs creaking. “Where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Give me an address. I’ll come get you.”

 

Yasu’s quick acceptance makes Lewis flinch, raising his free hand to cover his eyes. “No, fuck, it’s fine, I’m fine, I just… just need a place to stay for the night. I’m so sorry.” He’s horrified by the way his voice cracks on the last word, and has to clear his throat again, forcing himself to stop breaking down for two goddamn seconds.

 

“You don’t have to come get me. I’ll get to your place. I just need to sleep for a couple hours, I promise, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

 

“Absolutely not, I’m coming to get you,” Yasu says, tucking his comm under his ear as he pulls on his coat. “Did he kick you out? Did you break up? Give me an address.”

 

Lewis tells Yasu shakily where he is with a promise that they can chat when the older man gets to him, since he’s so insistent on picking him up. He crouches next to the stairs leading up to the bar as soon as Yasu hangs up with a promise to be there as quickly as he can. He wraps his arms around his legs and hides in the darkness of his thighs, and to his surprise he must have actually dozed off because suddenly he’s awoken by a gentle shake to the shoulder.

 

Looking up into the flushed and concerned face of Yasu is like a dream come true. Wearing a wrinkled suit that isn’t even buttoned - he clearly must have yanked it out of his clothes hamper in order to make it to Lewis as quickly as he could, he has tears in his eyes as he drops to his knees in front of Lewis and takes his face in a shaking, gloved hand.

 

“Oh my god,” he whispers, horrified at the sight of the gashes in Lewis’ cheek. “He... He did this?”

 

“It was an accident.” Lewis mumbles, closing his eyes and turning his head away. He can’t deal with the concern and kindness in Yasu’s voice. He’s so damn tired of crying.

 

“Thank you. For coming to get me. You really, really didn’t have to.” He says quietly, getting slowly to his feet. Yasu helps him up, supporting him slightly – Lewis isn’t very drunk, but he’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and he’s still shaking and barely able to stand.

 

“It’s not a problem, but...” Yasu pauses as they start walking, and he slings Lewis’ arm over his shoulder to keep him steady as they walk. “I’m not currently in my hotel room. Which is probably a good thing, given it would be a much farther walk. I’ve been, er... staying with a guy, for a few days. After we last... talked...” he winces at his own awkward and forced wording. “I went to a bar to find someone- anyone- because I- mh, it’s not important. I’m staying with a man named Julio. Or, well, at this point, I’m sort of house-sitting. He’s visiting his sister tonight because she just gave birth, or something, I don’t know, Spanish isn’t one of my strongest languages. I called him to make sure it was okay and explained the situation to him, and he’s fine with you staying over for a few days. So we’ll have the place to ourselves if you want to talk... or just go to bed.”

 

It takes a moment for Yasu’s meaning to sink in, and then it clicks. Lewis withdraws his arm from Yasu’s shoulders, stopping in his tracks.

 

“No, no, I couldn’t – I mean, I don’t want to, uh, intrude, or…” He shakes his head, feeling unwanted tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again. He had that much effect on Yasu, that his rejection drove him straight into some other guy’s bed? Who it sounds like he doesn’t even fully understand?

 

“I can’t. I didn’t mean to make you walk out here for nothing, but…fuck, I’m so sorry.” Lewis isn’t even sure what he’s apologizing for at this point. There’s a lot of ground to cover with Yasu, it seems.

 

“Hey,” Yasu takes both of Lewis’ hands. “It’s okay. It’s no intrusion. I am not leaving you on the streets tonight, and there is no way I’m letting you go back to your boyfriend,” he reaches up to brush his knuckles over the cuts on Lewis’ cheeks to emphasize his meaning. “I’m not giving you a choice. Please, come home with me.”

 

Lewis hates to admit it but there’s really no other option. Slowly, he nods, and allows Yasu to lead him down the street, even leaning on him a little when he stumbles. Yasu is blessedly quiet during the walk, only speaking once to note that Lewis is shivering. Lewis doesn’t even have time to tell him it’s fine, it’s not from the cold, before the other man drapes his coat over his shoulders. Numbly, Lewis accepts it, feeling even more like he’s taking advantage of Yasu’s kindness.

 

It’s a short walk back to Yasu’s…. friend’s apartment, but by the time they reach the front door, Lewis is grateful for the chance to stop. “Thanks. Again. You really didn’t have to do this.” He mutters as Yasu fishes out the keys.

 

“Shoot, hang on, I just grabbed his keys... I don’t know which one is his house key,” he mutters, jingling through a ring of keys and fitting a few in the front door. When one finally turns and clicks, he gives a triumphant sound and opens the door for Lewis. “Downstairs,” he guides Lewis down the mail stairwell and then it’s time for key guessing round two, before they finally shoulder into Julio’s apartment.

 

It’s spacious and sparsely decorated, monocromatic and very modern looking. Surprising, given the planet, but Lewis is too tired to really care. Yasu guides him to the couch and sits him down, taking his coat back and draping it over the back of the couch before he sits down beside him.

 

“So. Tell me what happened,” he encourages.

 

“Just… a really fucking stupid fight.” Lewis hangs his head, slumping against the cushions. “We were both assholes and I… fuck, I said some horrible shit, and he kicked me out. And I think that’s it. For all of it. I don’t think he’s taking me back.” The thought makes him tear up again, and he covers his face with his hands, embarrassed of his misery.

 

“Sorry, but… can we not talk about it? I just… I can’t. I hate this so fucking much,” His voice sounds muffled and lost to his own ears, like he’s talking from the bottom of a deep well. Which is what this feels like. All he wants to do is forget, to sleep for a thousand years until it’s somehow magically okay. Yasu lays a comforting hand on his shoulder and he tries to suppress the guilty sob that’s rising in his throat.

 

“Lewis,” Yasu rests his hand on Lewis’ knee. He clicks his tongue, looking at the angry red gashes on Lewis’ cheek. “Let me see if I can find a first aid kit somewhere in this place, alright? Those look horrible.”

 

He disappears into what is presumably a bathroom, and after a while of rummaging and what sounds like low Japanese muttering, Yasu finally re-emerges with a kit in hand. “I found one,” he says with a little smile and sits back on the couch beside Lewis.

 

Silent as he disinfects the cuts, he swabs medical ointment over the cuts and tapes a gauze square over the injury. “That should hold,” he says, clicking the kit shut again. Strange that he’s still wearing his gloves through all of this, but then again he’s always been impeccably dressed. Even if now he’s very rumpled with his shirt only half tucked in, and isn’t even wearing a tie. Lewis realizes with a hot knot in his belly that his suit is probably so wrinkled because it was torn off by Julio and left in a heap on the floor.

 

Yasu sighs and looks at Lewis, lifting his hand to tuck away a wayward curl on his forehead, but his hand only makes it halfway before he drops it into his lap again and looks away with a sigh. “I was afraid this would happen,” he says quietly. “I know I haven’t known you very long and forgive me if I’m out of line, but... well, this doesn’t seem like coincidence to me. This is a nightmare for you, and I’m worried. You’re just visiting, if he broke up with you... how are you ever going to get home? Were you living with him? Is he just going to dump you on some random planet to fend for yourself? God, Lewis, I- I’m so sorry.”

 

Lewis rubs at the back of his neck, turning away from Yasu’s serious expression. He knows the other man’s intentions must be good, but every word he’s saying drives the knife in deeper. Because Yasu is right – he’s going to have to start from square one again, alone, with all his things in Crane’s back seat, all his clothes in Crane’s hotel room. He’s lost.

 

“I’ll figure it out,” He mumbles, trying to end the conversation without seeming ungrateful. He gingerly pokes at the bandage on his cheek, wincing. “Do you know where there’s extra blankets, or something? I really, really want to sleep.”

 

Yasu takes Lewis’ hand and pulls it away from his face to keep him from picking. “You could come with me,” he says, his voice shaking a little bit. “When I leave the planet. You could come with me. You don’t have to live with me...” he looks away. “You don’t have to... _be_ with me... but it’s better than being stranded here.”

 

Even at the best of times he’s not exactly equipped to deal with things like this, but now, Lewis has to restrain himself from pushing Yasu away. Instead he carefully takes his hand back, still looking away.

 

“We… we can talk about tomorrow, okay? Please. I don’t want to…I’m so fucking tired, I can’t even think. Please.” Lewis begs, drawing away to the other side of the couch. Crane was enough to wipe him out for the night. Now it’s almost 6 am, and he’s in no way capable of handling another conversation with Yasu.

 

Yasu sighs and nods. “I’m sorry. I’m just heartbroken for you. Follow me, Julio has a guest room you can sleep in. It’ll be better than the couch.”

 

He stands and offers his hand, pulling Lewis up to his feet and he leads him down the hall, still holding onto his hand. He pulls the stiff grey blankets back on the bed in the slightly musty guest room, but even a starchy bed in a stranger’s guest room looks heavenly to Lewis now. He collapses down face-first on the covers, and Yasu flinches away for a moment before clicking his tongue again, and he takes a knee to undo Lewis’ shoes and tug them off. He’ll concede the rest of the man’s clothes, and tugs the blankets out from under his legs so he can pull them over his body up to his shoulders.

 

“Thanks,” Lewis whispers, barely audible, drawing the blankets around himself protectively. He’s half asleep before he even closes his eyes, barely noticing Yasu leaving the room and turning off the lights.


	35. Chapter 35

He sleeps for ten hours straight, fitfully, plagued by nightmares that have already come true. When he finally opens his eyes, he can’t tell what time it is (not that that’s anything new on Vitessence). There’s a brief blissful moment where he can’t remember where he is or why, and then it all comes crashing down on him again.

 

He tries to be quiet about crying. But it ends up being a lost cause – Lewis is interrupted mid-sob by a quiet knock on the door. He wipes at his reddened eyes when Yasu’s low voice filters though, asking if he’s okay.

 

“I’m fine,” He says hoarsely, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Come in, if you want.”

 

Yasu walks in, looking more casual than Lewis has ever seen him, but still impossibly well dressed. Black button down tucked inexplicably into slacks that he really doesn’t need to be wearing while relaxing at home. It makes him look even slimmer than he is, and those weird gloves are still in place. He sits at the edge of the bed and puts his hand on Lewis’ knee, clucking softly.

 

“God,” he leans over to the tissue box on the night stand and sets it beside Lewis. “If I ever meet this Crane fellow, I’m going to... I don’t know, I would say punch him but I’m not the strongest person,” he wiggles his slim arms with a forced little laugh, but it doesn’t last. “Did you think any about my offer?”

 

“Yeah,” Lewis lies. He hasn’t thought about anything. He still can’t think, barely. But operating on instinct has worked before, at least for a while. And his instincts are telling him to trust Yasu, at least to some degree.

 

“I’d… I’d be grateful if you could give me a ride off-planet. If you’re going near Titaniosphere, if it’s not too much trouble… then I could at least get back to my job, and I could find a place there somewhere. Maybe get my stuff back somehow. I dunno.” To be honest, he’s sure if he asked Crane for his things, he’d be able to collect them – no matter what else he thinks of Crane right now, he knows he’s not that vindictive. But that would require asking, and Lewis isn’t exactly sure he’s up to that.

 

Wiping his eyes again with one of the tissues, he rests his chin on his knees and gazes up at Yasu. “I really appreciate this, you know. Everything. It’s… I know it’s hard on you.” He says awkwardly, clearing his throat.

 

“It’s not hard for me,” Yasu shakes his head. “I care about you. A lot. I don’t need...” he clears his throat in return and looks away. “Your happiness comes first. How much I care about you and want you to be happy doesn’t hinge on whether or not you want to be with me.”

 

His cheeks are flushed when he looks away, and straightens up with another ah-hem, trying to recover some of his dignity. “I made breakfast,” he says, trying to change the subject. “Warm spinach-chickpea salad and poached some peppered eggs, do you have an appetite at all?”

 

“It’s like four in the afternoon.” Lewis lets out a forced laugh, purposely ignoring Yasu’s previous words. He won’t, he can’t deal with that right now. “It sounds good though. What kind of schedule have you even been keeping lately?”

 

“I called in to let them know I’m taking today off. You need company more than I need a business deal,” he says. “I dug around Julio’s closet and found something that might fit you, but it’s up to you. I left it folded in the bathroom if you want to take a shower. I’ll keep breakfast-dinner warm.”

 

He almost offers the man his hand to help him out of bed, but it only makes it a few centimeters before he forces it back to his side, and his glove squeaks a little when he clenches his hand. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” he says, and formally bows his head a bit to try and reforge their professional relationship before he walks out of the room a little quicker than necessary.

 

It’s not lost on Lewis, the way Yasu reaches for him and then turns away. On one level he appreciates Yasu’s control, but on another it makes his guilt that much worse – as much as Yasu denies it, it’s so obvious he’s still smarting from Lewis’s rejection. But it’s still a relief that he’s not pushing the issue anymore, and Lewis finds himself grateful when the other man exits the room.

 

He showers and dresses himself nervously in Yasu’s lover’s clothes, deeply unhappy about the situation but lacking any other option. It doesn’t exactly help that the situation reminds him of the first time he met Crane – the plain clothes Yasu proves him with in stark contrast to the ridiculous shit Crane could spare from his own closet.

 

Lewis grits his teeth, cutting off that train of thought before it can get started. If he’s going to get through this, he needs to think of Crane as little as possible. Stay focused on the present, on getting off the planet and back to his restaurant and figuring out where to go from there. And if he needs to do it dressed in his friend’s new lover’s slightly oversized clothes, that’s just how it’s going to have to be.

 

When he finally emerges from the guest bedroom, he finds that Yasu has laid out two steaming plates of eggs and vegetables on the kitchen counter. Unlike in Crane’s apartment, there’s no kitchen table – just a pair of stools tucked neatly under the breakfast bar. The food smells heavenly, and Lewis realizes that he hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

 

“Thank you,” He says to Yasu, simply, as he pulls himself onto one of the stools.

 

Yasu admires Lewis with a hint of longing in his dark eyes as he looks over the man. He looks exhausted, heartbroken, beaten down to a pulp emotionally, and still slogging through. He has to look away, pressing a gloved hand over his mouth as he breathes deeply through his nose.

 

“You look handsome,” he tries to sound sincere as he pierces his egg so he can mix the yolk in with his greens. “White suits you.”

 

“Thank you,” Lewis says, trying to avoid the note of stiffness in his voice, not entirely successfully. He runs his hand through his long hair, trying to figure out a way to change the subject – he’s still too cowardly to tell Yasu how uncomfortable his compliments make him, still terrified he’ll scare him off again. Finally he settles on a genuine question he’s been wondering about for a while now: the thin leather driving gloves on Yasu’s hands.

 

“Can I ask you something? Why d’you wear those gloves all the time? I’ve never seen your hands.”

 

Yasu’s slight smile disappears as he looks down at his hands, and he sighs. The leather creaks slightly, and he pulls them under the table to rest in his lap, staring down at his food. “A few years ago I was in a fire,” he says softly. “I suffered some burns on my chest and stomach, but it was worst on the palms of my hands. It’s scar tissue now, but the skin is still very sensitive when I touch certain things. So I wear the gloves for temperature and texture control.”

 

Lewis nods awkwardly. That… didn’t help. At all. He casts about for something to say in response, finally settling on a limp “I’m sorry.” And then he does something truly stupid – he reaches out for Yasu’s gloved hand.

 

As soon as his fingers close around the smooth black leather he’s cursing himself – as if he hasn’t sent enough mixed signals, as if he hasn’t tortured Yasu enough, he has to go do something harebrained like this. He lets go quickly, returning to his food, avoiding the other man’s eyes.

 

“Sorry,” He mumbles again. “I’m being an asshole. You don’t deserve this shit.”

 

Yasu’s jaw flexes and he closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he tries to get his breathing under control. His cheeks are flushing and his eyes feel a little hot. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice trembling a little bit and he opens his eyes, looking the other way. “Excuse me for just a moment.”

 

Sliding off his stool, he walks down the hall and disappears into the bathroom. Lewis is hanging his head in his hands at the bar when Yasu re-emerges a few minutes later, his eyes a little bit red, but he smiles cheerfully at Lewis just the same, pretending everything is fine.

 

Taking his seat on the stool again, he clears his throat. “If you wanted, I would be happy approaching Crane with you in order to get your belongings back. Or, I could do it for you, I would be comfortable with that also.”

 

Lewis shakes his head, still horrified by himself for leading Yasu on. The cuts on his cheek give out an almost warning sting as he blushes under his bandage.

 

“It’s not necessary,” He says quickly. “I can handle it. I’ll take care of it when I’m back home – back on Titaniosphere.” He corrects himself. Technically he doesn’t have a home anymore. The thought makes him feel ill, and he pushes back the half-finished plate in front of him, slipping off the stool.

 

“Thanks for the food,” He turns away from Yasu, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his temples. He could cheerfully sleep for another day, but he has to get out of this situation before he does something else stupid. Or before Yasu’s lover comes home. Or both.

 

Yasu slips off his stool as well and rests his hand on Lewis’ shoulder from behind. “It will be okay,” he says softly. “I promise. We’ll make it okay. I won’t leave you hanging like he has. I won’t abandon you.”

 

Lewis tenses, feeling his chest hitch painfully at Yasu’s last words. He reminds himself not to believe it – Crane’s told him the same – actually… Lewis searches his memory, trying to think of a time Crane’s ever told him he wouldn’t leave. And he’s horrified to realize there’s nothing. There was the soft nuzzlings against his neck, the way he curled around him in their bed, the rough texture of his tongue on his hairline… but never a promise to stay.

 

Closing his eyes, Lewis hangs his head, feeling like he’s shrinking under the weight of his sadness. And Yasu tightens his arm around his shoulders, and, unconsciously, he allows himself to be drawn into the embrace, resting his tired head against the other man’s chest, trying to stop the tears that are threatening yet again.

 

Yasu gives a soft, heartbroken sound, and wraps his arms around Lewis. He threads a leather hand through his hair and shushes him softly, rubbing his back and whispering soft words of encouragement to him in Japanese. Lewis can’t understand him, but the quiet tone is soothing.

 

“I’ll make sure you’re okay,” he says, in English now, cradling the larger man against him with firm, promising arms. He sways them just slightly from side to side, keeping Lewis’ weight up with his own, supporting him with his own body. “I swear it.”

 

Lewis knows he should be drawing away. He knows he’s leading his friend on, using him, but he doesn’t even try to leave Yasu’s embrace, letting himself be rocked gently. His hands drift limply at his sides. He’s so tired. He doesn’t ever want to move again.

 

He tries to speak, offer an explanation or at the very least another apology, but all that comes out is a long, bone-weary sigh as he buries his face in Yasu’s tailored shirt.

 

Yasu lets him cower in his shirt for a couple minutes as they stand there swaying in the halfway point between the kitchen and the living room. He shushes him softly, holding him close and tight and protectively. Eventually the crying gets to be too much and he gently lifts Lewis’ face with one hand.

 

“I’ll keep you safe, you’ll see,” he whispers. “You’re the most important person in my life right now.”

 

Lewis doesn’t pull away. Yasu gently wipes a few tears away with leather fingers. They’re so close now, he can feel Lewis’ heartbeat against his chest, he can feel his breath on his chin. Before Lewis can pull away, Yasu closes the gap with a brave, hesitant kiss.

 

When Yasu’s lips meet his, Lewis flinches, he goes stiff, he doesn’t kiss back - but he can’t summon the reserves to pull away. He stands like a statue and lets Yasu kiss him, hating himself utterly, cursing himself for his inability to move. It’s Yasu that draws away, noticing the lack of response, letting go of him and backing off as Lewis stands stock still, his head hanging down. He can’t even muster up the strength to get angry.

 

“I’m sorry,” Yasu says breathlessly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hate me. Please, Lewis- ” he reaches out again for the younger man, but the instant his fingertips meet with his hands, Lewis flinches backwards. Yasu gives a strangled, quiet sound, covering his mouth with both hands. “Lewis, please, I’m sorry, I’m a fool, I thought- I just- please-”

 

“I…I have to go. I’m so sorry. This was such a bad idea. I never should’ve…” Lewis gasps, shakes his head, reaching for his bag, almost blinded by guilt and unhappiness. He stumbles backwards, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run before he makes things even worse.

 

With Yasu’s quiet pleading echoing in his ears, he turns towards the door, reaching for the handle. “I’m so fucking sorry…” He mumbles as his fingers close around the cold metal.

 

“No, Lewis, please!” Yasu takes Lewis’ other hand, his voice trembling and breaking apart. “I promise I won’t do it again, please don’t leave, I made you a promise to take you away, remember? Please don’t leave, I’m so sorry, this is my fault, don’t leave!”

 

All that quick anger he couldn’t summon before falls into place now. Lewis snatches his hand out of Yasu’s grasp, clenching his fist. The cuts on his cheek are burning, Yasu’s gloved hands rasping at his skin.

 

“I’m not going to do this anymore,” He snaps, turning to face Yasu. The other man’s far too close again. And even though his heart is aching with guilt, even though he’s shouting at himself not to walk out on someone who gives a shit about him even if he won’t leave him alone, Lewis grits his teeth and forces his voice to be even and firm.

 

“I’m not. I’m not going to fuck around with you. I’m really fucking sorry but it’s not going to happen and staying with you is the worst idea in the entire world if it’s going to be like this. So thank you, honestly, so much, but I’m gone.” And he turns, much more decisively than he feels, back to the front door.

 

The sobbing behind him stops. It stops so quickly and suddenly that it’s worrying. Lewis turns back, more out of curiosity than anything else, and sees Yasu’s face has fallen into a mask of stony apathy. He reaches up and wipes the tears off his own face.

 

“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he says, his voice hard and cold as ice. He reaches behind him and untucks his shirt, and before Lewis can react, there’s a gun pointed at him. He opens his mouth to yell, dropping his bag, but the trigger is pulled and in a flash of pain, he looks down to see the brightly colored tip of a dart directly over his heart. It’s so close to his blood stream that it only takes seconds for him to feel dizzy and fall back against the door, slowly sliding down to the floor.

 

Squatting down beside Lewis, Yasu gives another sigh as the light starts to fade from his eyes. “I had hoped we could do this easy way.”


	36. Chapter 36

Everything’s muzzy. Floating. Lewis struggles to raise his head, dizzy and disoriented. He’s standing up, somehow. No, not standing up… tied up. Chained up? A shock of fear runs down his spine. He’s back with Titanium. He never left Titanium. The last few months were a dream. Crane was a dream.

 

His head drops down again, his heavy eyelids closing once more. Not Titanium. Something else bad has happened.

 

He’s not sure how much later he opens his eyes again, lifting his aching head, this time able to stay awake enough to take in his surroundings. For a moment he doesn’t recognize the apartment, his vision doubled, and then it snaps back into focus, even though he’s still reeling in his restraints.

 

Yasu. Something happened with Yasu. His friend. Yasu shot him? There must be some mistake.

 

His arms are pinned backwards at an awkward angle over his head, and his feet are cuffed too – there’s some sort of hard surface at his back forcing him upright, it almost feels like a big wooden X. Yasu did this? What the hell is going on?

 

Looking around desperately to catalog his surroundings, he’s in an almost totally empty room. Save for a light shining down on him from overhead, mercifully not right in his eyes, there are a few racks of what look like sex toys on the far wall, but when he focuses on them more sharply, he can see they’re... Torture devices. He’s not sure which is worse, or which he’d rather face. Other than that, the floor is bare, save for a frankly worrying drain right in the middle of the white tiles. There’s a table near the door and a closed closet by the rack of terrifying tools, holding god only knows what.

 

He doesn’t have very long to ponder through all of the questions. Yasu walks briskly into the room, pressed into an immaculate suit again. Black shirt, black tie, black suit, black gloves, his black hair is perfectly groomed, leaving his face a wash of snowy white. What Lewis used to think were warm brown eyes are now hollow black holes in his head.

 

In his hands he’s holding a syringe that he’s drawing liquid with from a little glass bottle, but when he looks up into Lewis’ eyes, he stalls for a moment. “You’re finally awake,” he says coldly, his voice an icy monotone. “I was just coming to inject you with adrenaline to get you up. You’ve been out for almost eight hours. I didn’t think the dart would hit a man of your size so hard. I’d almost guess you’re not used to being tranquilized.”

 

He laughs a little at his own joke and squirts the liquid back into the little bottle, setting it and the needle on a small table.

 

The effects of whatever was in the dart are starting to wear off, but Lewis still feels like he’s been hit by a truck. His head’s full of fog and he can’t tell what’s from whatever Yasu shot him with, and what’s simple horror and confusion about the fact that Yasu shot him.

 

“Why?” He asks, his voice hoarse and cracking, like he hasn’t had a drink in weeks.

 

“Why?” Yasu repeats with a little mirth in his voice as he crosses the room to his closer and opens it up. “Well, you went out like a candle, for one thing. And you’ve been out all day.”

 

He gives a little gasp like he’s just realized something and turns around with a length of rope in hand and a ball gag. “Oh, you probably meant why _all of this_ didn’t you?” he clicks his tongue and crosses the room back to Lewis’ side. “It’s nothing personal. And I did try _really hard_ to do this the easy way. Days of walking around with you aimlessly all over this stupid planet, listening to you talk and talk and talk. You could talk the ear off a dog, you know that?” he starts to reinforce Lewis’ body to the cross, looping the rope around his neck and around the back of the X over his waist to create the base of a harness. “This is your own fault. If you hadn’t tried to walk out, we could have made it work the nice way. But you’ve forced my hand, Lewis. You’ve forced me to get mean.”

 

Lewis flinches away from the rope Yasu’s fitting around his neck, but with his limited range of movement there’s no way he can avoid it. He’s still struggling to reconcile this cold-eyed, sarcastic person with the compassionate man he’s known for the last two weeks. It’s beyond understanding – how could Yasu have changed so quickly? Why is he doing this?

 

“What… why are you doing this?” He repeats stupidly. The thought of what’s happening next hasn’t even entered Lewis’s mind, although he knows, on some level deep down in the pit of his stomach, that it isn’t going to be good.

 

“This isn’t Scooby Doo, Lewis,” Yasu looks up at the bound man as he binds his thighs and knees to the cross. “I’m not going to spill the beans in a big bragging monologue just because you’re aghast. This is real life, and you got involved in something much bigger than yourself.”

 

He stands up to bind his arms more firmly to the X. “I wanted to do it the fun and easy way. Break you and Crane up, get you on my side, get him to leave the planet, and then I’d let you down easy. It would’ve hurt, but it would have hurt _a lot less than this is going to_.”

 

“Crane? What?” Lewis asks again. He can’t seem to stop repeating himself, still fuzzy with the after-effects of whatever Yasu’s drugged him with. What the hell does this have to do with Crane?

 

As Yasu cinches his bonds tighter, Lewis feels the fear at the bottom of his belly take hold. If it were anyone else, he’d be laughing at Yasu’s words – no one says these things in real life. But the emptiness in Yasu’s formerly emotive eyes makes him believe it.

 

Slowly, he’s coming to realize that this is real, that somehow, despite the complete bizarreness of the situation, the way it came out of nowhere, this isn’t a dream, and Yasu, the man he thought he knew, is not only a stranger but a terrifying one. And most of all, he’s coming to realize he’s not going to get out of this okay. Maybe not even alive.

 

“I told you this isn’t personal,” Yasu says as he ties the final length of the rope around behind Lewis’ neck to hold him in place. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. You just make a very handy bargaining chip. He even brought you with him and dropped you right into my lap. You were just _begging_ to be used,” he smirks and pinches his fingers around Lewis’ face, shaking his head back and forth like a child.

 

He crosses back over to the closet and shuts the door. “True, it would have been easier if you’d willingly been on my side. I didn’t account for how... loyal you’d be to that feline. I thought if I was just charming enough, if I batted my eyelashes enough...” he gives a heavy, tired sounding sigh. “But no matter. I’ve never had a problem with a little hard work. You might even make it out alive if you behave and all goes well.”

 

“What are you… this is about Crane’s _job?”_ Lewis finally connects the dots. He can’t stop asking questions, even when his heart is beating faster and faster, even while Yasu circles around him, checking his bonds.

 

It’s easier to ask than to think about the way his heart sinks somehow, still, when Yasu tells him it has nothing to do with him. Stupid to be disappointed by it, especially in this situation, but it still stings somehow. The same way it stings to think about the tender, efficient way Yasu bandaged his face, the long walks through the streets together, the jokes, the way he walked six blocks with Yasu’s coat around his shoulders. How much was an act? How much was calculated to get him to… to what, fall for Yasu? Abandon Crane? Why?

 

And with a horrible sinking feeling in his chest, he realizes that abandoning Crane is exactly what he’s done.

 

“Yes, it’s about Crane’s _job,_ you stupid sheep,” Yasu says coldly. “Everything is about this job. When I walked into that bar, it wasn’t coincidence. It’s been planned, all of this has been planned. As soon as we figured out who you were, you were targeted. You weren’t originally part of the plan, and it probably could have gone better, but no worries. I’ll see to it that we succeed.”

 

To Lewis’ surprise, he starts to pull off his gloves. “I have been wearing these for far too long. They get quite uncomfortable after several hours, you know.” with the leather off, he tucks the gloves in the inside pocket of his jacket. He wiggles and then cracks his fingers, and as he laces them and bends them away from his body, Lewis can see what Yasu meant by “he was in a fire.”

 

Every single one of his fingerprints have been seared off into nothing but a flat, smooth, red plane of skin. He shakes his hands off with a content sigh. He notices the way Lewis is staring at his hands, horrified, and twists his palms upwards to give the man a better look. “I’ve been doing this sort of work for a very long time. Long before you. And I’ll continue to do it for a long time after.”

 

Foolishly, Lewis hadn’t even considered that Yasu would lie about his hands. He should have known better. Yasu has lied about everything.

 

Lewis hangs his head, the rough rope around his neck tightening against his throat, utterly overwhelmed. He’s lost, he’s more lost than he’s ever been in his life, and it’s his own fault for being stupid and gullible and believing someone cares about him, and worst of all he’s going to be used against Crane. Except. Maybe not.

 

Licking his dry lips, Lewis raises his eyes to glare at Yasu. And, incredibly, he feels his mouth stretch into a bitter, mocking grin. “You fucked up, though. Did your job a little too fucking well. Crane’s done with me. You can’t use me for a bargaining chip with him anymore.”

 

Yasu gives a little chuckle. “Oh, that’s what you think. He’s been losing his mind looking for you. I have eyes on the street. He’s frantic. All it’ll take is one phone call from you, and he’ll be on his way. I’ll let him know you’ve moved on, and that he should just leave the planet. And then once he’s gone, if he obeys, I’ll let you go your own way. I’ll even buy you a cab ticket off this planet if you behave.”

 

“Fuck off. You really think I’m gonna cooperate with you?” Lewis is shaking off the drugs now, his head still aching but clearer, his sight no longer doubled. And with that clarity, he’s getting angry. “You lying fucking snake,” He snarls. “’I make a lot of enemies in my business deals’ my ass. You’re so fucking pathetic. You never had a fucking chance with me.”

 

Yasu gives a little laugh in his nose. “I didn’t _want_ a chance with you, you stupid boy. I was _using you_ , don’t you understand that? I wasn’t interested in a relationship with you. Crane is more my type than you are.”

 

At this point Lewis is honestly more frustrated that he hasn’t hurt Yasu than that he was never desired in the first place. All he wants to do right now is hurt, wound, break this man who’s lied so deeply about being his friend. But he can’t. The only ways he knows how to be cruel are based on a lie. Yasu is, for the moment, basically untouchable. So he’ll have to wait, in the same way he waited for his sister to be far enough away from her father to avoid suspicion, in the same way he’s been watching Titanium’s police force carefully every time he encounters them.

 

There’s a slow, cold, bruise-colored cloud of rage building in his head, one he recognizes and welcomes in the moment, though he knows he’s going to regret it later. It’s the same stormcloud that built up when his sister showed up to his apartment with a dislocated shoulder and dark contusions all down her back and side, it’s the same one he has to send away every time Crane comes home with a black eye and a lost tooth, or bright scratches across his chest, or the unspeakably awful damage to his ribcage. The same fog of rage and hatred and calculated violence that sprang up around him the moment Crane started describing his abuse. And ordinarily, he tries to send it away, beat it out against a brick wall until his fists are bloody, keep himself safe around the ones he loves. But now? There’s probably nothing left to lose. It’s clear by now that Yasu doesn’t deserve sympathy, even with the treacherous memories of friendship flowing through Lewis’s mind.

 

He gives Yasu a cocky sideways grin. All his fear has been compartmentalized for now – he knows it’ll come back out a thousand times stronger afterwards, but for now, all he can be is angry, and focused, and cruel, waiting for Yasu to make one mistake, show vulnerability one time.

 

“I get it,” He says quietly. “So call him. Have me talk to him. I’ll tell him to leave. And you can have your fucking precious business deal.”

 

“Oh, you’re not going to talk to him,” Yasu chuckles as he takes Lewis’ comm out of his jacket pocket. “And you aren’t here to close a deal, you’re here to prevent one. And then when I’m done with you, I’ll eject you off into your life and you can forge your own path from there. And if you come back for me, you’ll be met with the strongest force on this planet, so I’d suggest that if and when I turn you loose, you just go.”

 

Lewis clenches his fists in his bonds, still keeping up the cheerful, ironic smile. He nods, almost pleasantly, as Yasu fishes his comm out of his pocket.

 

“I don’t need to do shit,” He says, taking a shot in the dark. “You’re fucked from the get go. You’ve made a whole damn mess of this. Your boss is gonna murder you for taking so long and being so damn incompetent.”

 

Yasu throws his head back with a louder laugh. “Oh, please. My boss in love with me. I’ve been fucking him for years. You shouldn’t make assumptions, little boy.”

 

Lewis’s smile barely slips. So he has to adjust faster than before, so he doesn’t have as much time to find out what’ll leave Yasu vulnerable. He can work with that. He’ll have to disregard anything he thought Yasu was like before, try to understand this new empty-eyed creature who’s playing with his comm right now – the man he thought was his friend. And since he can’t get a read on him, he’ll have to go for outright threats.

 

“He better get used to a life without you then.” Lewis says quietly, confidently, baring his teeth. “If I don’t get the chance to kill you for this, Crane will.”

 

Yasu’s slightly amused half-smile drops. There’s silence in the air for a moment, and then quick as a bolt of lightning, Yasu’s hand lashes out and slaps Lewis across the face hard enough to leave him reeling for a moment.

 

“Don’t threaten me, child,” he growls, his voice dropping low and going tight with anger. “You are in a very tight position and if you put too much pressure on me, I will _squeeze_ the life out of you. I _want_ to let you go, don’t force my hand.”

 

He turns on his heel and starts to walk away to get himself out of the room before he loses control, but he hears Lewis jab at the back of his head, “You don’t _want_ to let me go, you snake!”

 

Whirling back around, Yasu points viciously in Lewis’ direction and howls, red-faced, _“I liked you!”_ he’s quiet for a moment after that, gasping, shaking with rage, before he starts again in a lower tone, “I don’t _want_ to kill you but if you test me I will. I have bigger fish to fry than you and while I’d prefer you walk away from this I will _flay you alive_ if I have to.” His nostrils flare as his hand returns to his side, his mouth drawn into a tight frown, and then he turns before Lewis can recover, and flees from the room.

 

Well. Lewis considers, deliberately shoving all the implications of Yasu’s words away from him, That’s something to use.

 

Alone, he feels those dark thunderclouds in his head retreating, and for the first time in his life he calls them back, drawing on them, gathering them in to fill his head and force all the confusion and turmoil and doubt away. What it comes down to in the end is that Yasu is going to either kill Crane or send him back to Titanium empty-handed, which Lewis knows by now is essentially a death sentence. And as much as he liked Yasu, or even the person Yasu pretended to be, it’s no contest between the two. Even Yasu’s confession (probably another lie, Lewis acknowledges, grimacing) doesn’t sway him.

 

As soon as Yasu re-enters the room, Lewis is at his throat. “You fucking liked me, huh? Ever wanted to stop fucking lying? Ever wanted to tell me you were using me? Couldn’t have liked me that much, then, right?” And then he starts lying himself, face still stretched into a bitter grin. “I always just tolerated you. You were an entertainment, nothing more.” He lies, the stormclouds in his head sending down lightning bolts that whisper _he did worse to you._ ”You were just a placebo. Fucking idiot. Go curl up with your fucking master.”

 

Yasu doesn’t react this time. He has a ball gag in his hands and he yanks sharply on Lewis’ hair to get him to shout in pain, and he rams the ball deep enough to choke him. Firmly pulling it around his head, he lets the buckle get tangled painfully in his hair as he pulls it too tight around his head.

 

He chooses not to acknowledge Lewis’ words. He chooses not to share that his situation with his boss is actually the reverse - Lewis wouldn’t care, anyway. He chooses not to be wounded by his words. This is what happens when he has to destroy a relationship he forged for work reasons. This isn’t the first time he’s done it and it won’t be the last. He’s heard all the insults and the lies and the screamed obscenities in the world. And he won’t let it hurt him this time, either.

 

“I was doing my job,” he says flatly. “I do my job just like everybody else does. I do my job to the best of my abilities- and I _am_ the best. No amount of pissing or moaning from you is going to make me feel guilty. I have family to take care of,” he should stop now, but he can feel the words rushing out of him and his voice starts to tremble again. “My parents live alone in the mountains and they don’t have _anyone els_ e in the world. I am _not_ going to let you intimidate me or threaten me, I will kill you so quickly you will be dead before your body hits the ground before I’ll let you rob my parents of the only person who will remember them.”

 

Lewis chokes and coughs as Yasu wedges the gag into his mouth. He’s still spitting insults but they come out as muffled, inarticulate noises. At least he’s gotten under Yasu’s skin. The problem is that his fear is coming back. Robbed of his tongue, he’s helpless.

 

Yasu turns his back on Lewis and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. He can’t get worked up now, he has a job to complete. He fishes a pair of scissors out of his jacket pocket and turns around, his face a mask of indifference again. He can’t let Lewis think he holds any power over him, or the whole job will fall apart.

 

“Don’t squirm, or I’ll accidentally cut you,” he says flatly as he brandishes the scissors and starts to cut through the shirt he’d given Lewis.

 

Lewis edges back from the cold metal of the scissors against his skin, but there’s really nowhere to go – he’s tied so that he can only barely shift his torso. His heart is hammering again, all the terror he’d displaced rushing back over him like a tidal wave. He’s still glaring down at Yasu but he can’t help the fact that he’s started to breathe a little raggedly, flinching whenever Yasu’s hands drop towards his waist. He can handle being hurt. He can’t handle anything worse.

 

Lewis edges back from the cold metal of the scissors against his skin, but there’s really nowhere to go – he’s tied so that he can only barely shift his torso. His heart is hammering again, all the terror he’d displaced rushing back over him like a tidal wave. He’s still glaring down at Yasu but he can’t help the fact that he’s started to breathe a little raggedly, flinching whenever Yasu’s hands drop towards his waist. He can handle being hurt. He can’t handle anything worse.

 

“Oh stop it,” Yasu snaps irritably. “I’m not going to molest you. I _will_ cut you if you keep squirming, and it won’t be on accident. I told you to behave. It’s not a ridiculous request for you to be a decent human being.”

 

He pulls the shreds of Lewis’ shirt away from his body and lets them drop to the floor, still frowning as though he’s just mildly annoyed with the whole horrifying situation. He crosses the room to his shelves of torture equipment and pulls a cat o’ nine tails out from behind some kind of wind-up egg, and stretches it over his palm. He clearly takes no enjoyment out of it when he stripes Lewis’ chest with several red marks, his face is still a deadpan as he leaves Lewis shaking and sweating and drooling with rage and pain. He hits harder than Crane ever did.

 

Only when the marks have started to raise into welts does Yasu pull out the comm at last. “Time to call your kitten,” he hisses, and pulls a gun from behind him where he had it tucked into his belt. He points it directly at Lewis’ forehead, with only a few inches between them. “This is a real gun. Bullets in this one. If you think I’m bluffing, I dare you to make a sound while I’m making this call.”

 

He dials Crane’s number and then surprisingly, he sets it on the floor before Crane has a chance to pick up. The instant the first click of Crane’s answer sounds, Yasu sets right into his practiced routine and Lewis can just barely hear Crane’s distant cry of, “Lewis, oh god, is that you? Where are you, please don’t hang up!” over Yasu’s terrifyingly flawless impression of his own voice. He’d forgotten about Yasu’s ability to mimic others’ voices. He didn’t think it would ever be used like this.

 

It would be eerie enough, hearing his own voice coming from another person, but the fact that Yasu sets directly into _moaning_ with his own voice is gut-turning. “Ohh, Yasu- ohh god, fuck, Yasu!” the suited man smirks and makes exaggerated, teasing expression of pleasure as he snaps the leather crop against the cross behind Lewis so it doesn’t actually touch him, but he punctuates it with a cry in Lewis’ voice, “Fuck! More!”

 

Switching over to his own voice, he growls, “You want more? Beg me for it.”

 

Lewis has no choice but to listen to Yasu fabricate a sexual exchange between them, filling the room with the snappings of his crop and the most real-sounding fake moans Lewis has ever heard, right up until the second click of Crane hanging up, and Yasu drops the hand holding his gun to his side, throwing his head back with a laugh.

 

The pain of the whip on his body is nothing compared to what Lewis feels when he hears Crane’s voice calling his name. He strains against his bonds, silently struggling. He hates himself bitterly, wholeheartedly for his inability to make a sound, but he knows that Yasu isn’t bluffing, and if he wants to survive he’ll have to play along. Horrified by what Yasu’s doing, he squeezes his eyes shut and wishes to god there was some way to cover his ears.

 

When Yasu drops the gun from Lewis' face, laughing, Lewis lets out a loud howl of pain and rage. It only makes Yasu laugh harder.

 

At this moment, Lewis could cheerfully cover his former friend in gasoline and light a match. He has a thousand regrets, but the largest one is that he couldn’t have just one hand free, just one chance to reach for Yasu and pull out his lying tongue. But there’s nothing – his bonds are professional, with no possibility of escape. He glares bitterly ahead, dry-eyed. If nothing else he won’t give Yasu the satisfaction of his tears.


	37. Chapter 37

It’s only a matter of waiting until then. Yasu pulls his gloves back on to seem more official and spends an awful long time making sure he looks flawless in the mirror. He knows that Crane Will have the “pocket-dialed” call traced to his apartment and he’ll be here soon, depending on how far away he was.

 

Sure enough, within the hour, Yasu hears the scratching noises of Crane trying to pick his lock subtly. He strides evenly into the room with Lewis and takes his crop in hand and immediately starts whipping Lewis, earning yowls of pain that are indistinguishable from cries of pleasure behind the gag.

 

The front door bursts open and Lewis can hear Crane’s voice crying his name, full of fury. Yasu feigns a gasp of surprise as Crane throws open the door to the back room where Lewis is shaking in his bonds. “Lewis, you said you broke up!” it’s incredible how easily he can slip back into the sparkly-eyed sweet man Lewis used to think he was.

 

Crane observes the scene with fiery rage and icy pain. Lewis - his Lewis - came to this other man. Surely he hadn’t thought he meant it when he told him to leave the planet? But apparently he thought so, because he ran right into the arms of another man. Or, apparently, right onto the _bondage cross_ of another man. He feels sick to his stomach and takes a step back.

 

The look on Crane’s face freezes Lewis’s heart. He raises his head and stares into his lover’s bright green eyes, trying to get some kind of message across through the gag in his mouth, but all he can manage are a series of increasingly desperate stifled shouts. He can’t even move to signal him about Yasu’s gun.

 

He’s shaking his head slowly, terrified and helpless and furious, unable to close his eyes or look away. He’s going to watch Crane die thinking he betrayed him.

 

“You told him we broke up?!” Crane says, his voice cracking with heartache.

 

“Oh, I see,” Yasu says, going cold - but a different kind of cold. He hasn’t dropped his Good Boy act yet, Lewis can tell. “Maybe you didn’t break up with him, but he broke up with you.”

 

Crane feels his chest go cold and he takes another stumbling step back. “L- Lewis?” he says, his voice strangled.

 

“He doesn’t _want_ you anymore,” Yasu snaps, gesturing towards the door behind Crane. “He hasn’t wanted you for a long time. We’ve been fooling around behind your back for _days_ now. He was just waiting for you to fuck up so he could leave you for me.”

 

Feeling weak, Crane stumbles back against the door frame. He’s shaking from head to toe, his head is spinning. He would have preferred never finding Lewis again to this. He swallows hard and hangs his head, making a little choked-off sound of agony.

 

The tears Lewis has been holding back are streaming down his cheeks now. He keeps shaking his head, eyes locked on Crane, letting out low muffled sounds of denial that he’s sure Crane won’t understand right. And all this time he’s still terrified, aware of every move Yasu is making in his peripheral vision, waiting breathless for him to draw his gun, waiting for the first spots of blood to appear on Crane’s stupid hipster v-neck.

 

He’s leaning forward as far as he can, the strap of the ball gag pressing painfully against the scratches on his cheek, but the anger and hurt from the scratches on his face is far, far away. Instead he strains against his bonds and yell into the gag one last time, his throat aching. And Crane still doesn’t leave. _Stupid, stupid, stupid cat,_ he rails at Crane in his mind, _Just go, just please fucking go and leave here alive._

 

“You hear that?” Yasu gestures at Lewis, but Crane doesn’t see, he’s doubled over clutching his head. “Lewis is screaming at you to leave. He doesn’t want you here. He told me he never wants to see you again.”

 

Crane mewls weakly, collapsing back against the door frame, but Yasu doesn’t stop there. “Go on, get out of here! Leave my apartment! You aren’t welcome here by me or him!” Crane spins off the door frame and turns to hurry away, his eyes stinging, his chest aching.

 

“Get the hell off this planet, nobody wants you here!” he shouts after the retreating cat, watching him trip over the leg of a table and crash to the floor, still scrambling to get out of the suffocating apartment. “Take your shit and leave! Lewis is moving in with me, take it all and get out of here! Leave this planet, leave Lewis with me, and leave your fucking job!”

 

The front door slams, and plunges Yasu and Lewis into total silence. It hangs heavy and icy in the air for several long moments, before Yasu’s posture straightens from passionate lover to sneering lecher. He laughs low and cruel, looking back over at Lewis. “You got what you wanted,” he says coolly. “ _Now_ you’re broken up for good. You left him behind after all. Now he’s leaving you.”

 

Lewis slumps in his restraints, hanging his head. Crane is gone. It was stupid, so stupid to hope that by some miracle he’d get to keep his lover – his ex-lover – alive and safe and somehow with him as well. He’ll have to take Crane’s absence from his life. It’s fine. Far better for Crane to be alive and well and far away than any alternative.

 

He closes his eyes, blinking away his tears slowly, refusing to look at Yasu until he knows his eyes are clear, until his hands are no longer shaking.

 

Finally he’s able to raise his head, staring into Yasu’s pitiless eyes, his blank pale face. And Lewis knows, looking into those dark eyes, that he’s never hated anyone so much in his life. Including Cynda’s father. Including Titanium.

 

Crane didn’t make it far. His legs only carried him to the top of the stairs in Yasu’s building before he collapsed to his knees, sobbing and choking. He’s doubled over, shaking and yowling, clutching both hands over his heart to keep it inside his chest, because right now it feels like it’s trying to dig its way out of his chest with a blunt instrument it aches so profoundly.

 

He never really understood the claims people made about dying of a broken heart before. Now he understands. The persistent, full-body pain is overwhelming, he’d sooner throw himself down the stairs behind him than live forever with this wracking, guilty, excruciating heartache.

 

Yasu’s words echo in his head. Lewis doesn’t want him, Lewis has been looking for a reason to leave him. He’s been terrified of this from the very start, he knew he wasn’t good enough. Yasu is a better, younger version of him. Lewis can be with him longer, he can be happy. He doesn’t have to cry with Yasu or fight with Yasu. Yasu will be better than he was.

 

Leave the planet, he said. Leave his job. Wobbling to his feet, Crane hauls up to a stand on unsteady paws. Leave it all behind. Titanium will kick the shit out of him for not closing the deal, and if he’s lucky it’ll finally kill him. He takes a shaking step forward-- and then stops.

 

How did Yasu know about the job?  
Lewis must have told him.  
But... no. Lewis didn’t know about the job.

 

Suddenly snapping into focus, Crane sucks in a breath. He remembers seeing Titanium, getting the assignment. Titanium flashed him a photograph and said, “The president has a body guard. Ruthless, lethal, sneaky. Name of Iwamoto. Avoid him at all costs.”

 

Crane had never seen that bodyguard with the man he’d been attempting to do business with. He’d forgotten his face. He never should have forgotten his face.

 

The first thing Lewis does after he hears the front door slam, knowing that Crane is gone, is bow his aching head, resigning himself to being lost. He couldn’t do enough. He couldn’t save himself and Crane, and really he didn’t do shit to save Crane either – he just hung there, helpless, on this giant stupid X, utterly worthless to the man he loves.

 

It doesn’t matter. Whatever Yasu wants to do to him now is immaterial. As long as he can get one hand free for striking, get his mouth free to threaten and curse... the dark thunderheads are coming back now that Crane is gone and there’s nothing left to fear. He deliberately slumps further into an attitude of defeat, allowing himself to hang from his wrists, the rope around his neck drawing uncomfortably tight. All he needs anymore is for Yasu to let him go, even for a second.

 

“I’m going to leave you tied up for 24 hours,” Yasu informs Lewis as he strides over to his closet. “Plenty of time for Crane to get off the planet. I’ll drape you in a blanket so you don’t get chilly, and then I’ll knock you out with another dart and ship you away as well. And if you’re lucky, you’ll never cross my path again.”

 

 _No, no, no, no,_ Lewis cries out in his head. He can’t be sent away like this, not again, not humiliated and brought into captivity and used and hurt and denied any kind of revenge, not after being caught by Titanium, not after losing Crane. He jerks forward one more time, crying out angrily, and is brought up short by the ropes around his body, barely even able to move.

 

Yasu doesn’t even turn around. And Lewis realizes that he’s not going to get his own back, probably never. The stormclouds around his head have condensed into a tornado, and he can’t do a damn thing with all the rage and sorrow and pain swirling inside him. All he can do is feebly turn away from Yasu when he comes back with another one of those awful darts.

 

As Yasu loads it into his dart gun, he freezes at the sound of the front door opening again, and Crane’s voice can be heard. Booming, thunderous, enraged, it shakes the very walls as he roars,

 

_“IWAMOTO!”_

 

Crane tears back through the apartment. Yasu whirls on him and fires the dart at him, but he’s not quick enough Crane’s hand comes down on his wrist and the dart lodges harmlessly in the ceiling as Crane tackles him to the floor. Polished shoes drive hard into Crane’s belly, knocking the wind out of him and wrenching searing pain up his body from his injured ribs as Yasu kicks him off his body in a fluid somersault.

 

The real gun comes out of Yasu’s belt as Crane lands on his paws and lunges at the man in front of him. The body guard of the man who has been beating the shit out of him for weeks. The man who has Lewis beaten and tied to a cross unwillingly. He still doesn’t understand how he heard them having sex - Yasu must have had a gun to him, it’s the only explanation.

 

Swinging a wild punch at Yasu’s neck, blocked by the man’s quick forearm, he realizes it might not have been faked after all. Just because this man is the body guard in question doesn’t mean Lewis still didn’t leave him for him. Just because he’s Crane’e enemy doesn’t mean he’s unavailable as a partner. If he wasn’t Crane’s enemy, would Lewis have still left him for him? Would it have mattered?

 

With his core left wide open, Yasu uppercuts his solar plexus and sends him staggering back. He points the gun, but gets a metal cable to the wrist that knocks it away and spikes pain up his arm, followed by a roundhouse kick right after that leaves scratches across his face from the claws on Crane’s paw, matching the ones on Lewis’ cheek.

 

“You can’t have him!” Crane yowls, dropping into a fighter’s stance, forging his body into a shield between Yasu and Lewis as tears fill his eyes. “I don’t care if he left me! I don’t care if you want him, _you can’t have him!”_

 

All the air has left Lewis’s body. He’s left staring, shocked, at the sudden quick competent aggression he’d never expected out of Crane. And it’s for him.

 

Crane’s standing in front of him and claiming him and… he’s caught between love and pride and terror. Crane doesn’t have a gun. Crane has his tail and his claws and a deadly grace Lewis has never seen before, but he doesn’t have a gun. And Lewis can’t move, can’t even speak.

 

Yasu throws his head back with a laugh as he wipes the dripping blood from his cheek. “You think you can take him from me? He’s not _yours_ either, you stupid old man.”

 

Crane screeches in fury and lurches at him, swinging blows desperately. Yasu blocks every one of them, quick as lightning. Fists blocked by wrists, blows returned and dodged by a quickly reacting spine - Crane’s ribs are burning, aching, but it’s easy to ignore past the fearsome rush of adrenaline. He whips his tail under Yasu’s knees and knocks him over onto his back and pounces him, bashing him in the nose twice with the heel of his hand before Yasu stops him with a reinforced elbow to his ribs that sends a blinding pain searing through Crane’s body.

 

He screams and Yasu flips them, and he brings his fist down over what Crane has clearly displayed as a weakness. A deafening crunch fills the room, followed by the most blood-curdling howl Lewis has ever heard. Crane lies limply on the floor, curling onto his side, in on himself, shaking and gasping for breath as Yasu rises to a stand, laughing triumphantly and panting as he fixes his hair and straightens his jacket.

 

Crane struggles to rise, his whole body weak under the continued onslaught of agony. He doesn’t notice Yasu walking calmly over to his gun.

 

Lewis is screaming through his gag, throat burning, voice cracking, struggling against his restraints. _Get up, get up, get UP he’s going to KILL you!_

 

He jerks himself forward, trying to overbalance the thing he’s tied to, but his movements only draw the rope around his neck tighter and he can’t even scream anymore. He’s left choking and gasping as he watches, helpless, as Yasu picks up the gun from the floor and casually strides back to where Crane lies struggling on the ground.

 

Running a gloved hand through his hair one more time, Yasu steps over Crane’s gasping form. The instant his foot comes down on the other side of Crane’s body he pulls the trigger. Blood splashes across the floor and Crane’s struggling stops. Yasu sighs deeply and tosses the gun aside, stepping off of Crane’s body, and he walks out of the room to collect himself.

 

Crane lies motionless on the floor, his back turned to Lewis. Limp and lifeless, blood seeps across the tile floor under him and trickles between the valleys towards the drain.

 

All the breath rushes out of Lewis’s lungs, like he’s been punched. He makes a small, wounded noise and goes limp, swaying against his ties. The room is spinning around him and all he can see is the dark trail of blood on the white tile, the way Crane’s body curls away from him.

 

It can’t be like this. This can’t be happening, this can’t be real. He still barely understands how he even got here, how he even started fighting with Crane, and now he’s staring at his lover’s body like a nightmare he can’t wake up from, begging and bargaining with a god he doesn’t even believe in, _Please, please, please don’t let this be real._

 

Yasu’s clicking footsteps return, he’s holding a new dart. With eyes burning furiously, he loads it into the dart gun and clicks it into place. “You are more trouble than you’re worth,” he growls at Lewis, turning his back on Crane to grab him by the face, digging his fingers into the scratches on his face. “I should have just killed you right away the first day we met. I should have made it look like an accident - or suicide, even. I could have made it legitimate. Then he would have fled of a broken heart, but now look what you’ve done. You killed him. That’s on _you_ , Lewis. _You_ killed Crane because you wouldn’t do it the easy way.”

 

Face twisted with pain and hatred, Lewis stares directly into Yasu’s dark eyes, the ones that he used to think were so kind. He doesn’t flinch away when Yasu presses his scarred fingertips into the wound on his face. He just stares. There’s nothing left. He can’t speak, he can’t hurt him, he can’t – he never could – save Crane. All that’s left is this impotent rage. Yasu’s right – he should have been killed.

 

As Yasu brings the dart gun up to his face, Lewis sighs quietly and continues to glare, tensing forward as the ropes around his neck and body will allow. He’s stopped trying to make a sound. He doesn’t care anymore. All he wants, plain and simple, is Yasu Iwamoto dead and Hannibal Crane alive again.

 

Another shot rings through the room, and Yasu’s eyes blow open wide, his mouth gapes in a gasp he doesn’t actually take. Pain pierces his back and shoots up his spine, down his legs, paralyzing him with the kind of pain you can’t even breathe through. He feels molten liquid run down his back, and he realizes as he crumples to his knees, he’s been shot.

 

Crane is up on one knee, panting and clutching his side where the bullet dug into tissue and little else. Yasu clutches the ropes around Lewis’ body, hauling himself back up to a stand. Okay, this isn’t the end of the world. He’s still standing, the bullet probably didn’t pierce his lung, he just has to compartmentalize the pain and shoot the cat in the head this time before getting himself some medical attention.

 

“Get... away... from Lewis,” Crane snarls between ragged panting breaths that saw out of his lungs.

 

“You’re honestly the type of man who’d shoot another man in the back?” Yasu accuses bitterly, his voice a little jagged in his throat.

 

“Fucking right and I’ll shoot you again in the face if you don’t get out of here!” Crane howls with all the breath in his lungs. Yasu turns and dashes from the room. Staggering to his feet, clutching his bleeding side, Crane holds the gun firmly in one hand just in case as he limps across the room to Lewis and gently pries the gag’s buckle open with shaking, bloodied fingers.

 

Lewis wants to say a million things, he wants to express in a rush how sorry he is, how happy he is that Crane is alive, but the first thing he says is “Behind you!”

 

Crane narrowly misses a flying knife that lodges in the wall. Yasu is back, and he has a gun this time too. He fires first, taking a chunk out of the wall with his bullet before Crane can lunge forward. They’re both injured and bleeding, but Crane won’t let him get away this time. If he’s going to come back for a fight, he’s going to get one-- to the death.

 

Gasping, barely able to believe his eyes, Lewis presses back against the boards behind him, like he’s trying to stay out of the way – stupid in a gunfight, but what else is he going to do? He’s back to tugging at his restraints, fruitlessly, desperate to help Crane somehow. He wants to explain, yell encouragement, warnings, something, but he’s terrified of distracting him, making him vulnerable. And he won’t see Crane fall like that again. Not ever, ever again.

 

Crane fires, ears ringing, misses over Yasu’s shoulder. Yasu tackles Crane around the waist, shouldering him in his bad side, and they both howl as they hit the ground. Yasu straddles Crane and boxes him about the ears, tearing the thin membrane on one side before Crane wraps the strong cable of his tail around Yasu’ throat and yanks him backwards with all the force he can muster.

 

Choking and red-faced, Yasu is flung several feet where he lies gasping, wringing his palm around his neck to try and rub away the pain. His windpipe feels partially crushed, but he can still draw breath, and that’s all he needs to do to beat Crane into the ground.

 

Lifting his gun, he points it not at Crane, but at Lewis. “BACK!” he screams, and Crane freezes on the ground. “I will shoot him in the head!” Horrified, Crane raises his hands up in surrender.

 

“No, no, fucking don’t let him do this, Crane, don’t-” Lewis shouts, voice hoarse and cracking, yanking his hands forwards, the ropes biting into his wrists. He’s not going to let Yasu use him again, he’s not going to endanger Crane by his mere existence. And now he can speak again. He takes a deep, rasping breath and turns to Yasu, staring wide-eyed down the barrel of the gun pointed at his face. “Your parents are never going to find your body.”

 

“Lewis, shut up!” Crane barks, followed by a sharp “Iwamoto!” to get Yasu’s attention focused back on him. “Just kill me, just execute me, let him go. I’ll go down without a fight just... please don’t hurt him.”

 

Yasu clucks at the cowering cat, hands raised, on his knees, and drops the gun from Lewis’ face as he walks slowly over to Crane and points the gun down at his bowed head. “You really think I’m going to let him go?”

 

Right where he wants him. The bullet skims over his shoulder so close he can feel the breeze on his back when he shoves Yasu’s wrist away. Without releasing, he cracks his other palm into the bone and breaks it. Yasu howls, drops his gun, but Crane doesn’t stop there. He elbows Yasu in the stomach, right over where the bullet pierced him from behind, knocking the wind out of him, and then stands up to shoulder him in the chin. With a triple-jab to the chest, belly and groin, he floors him, and then straddles him.

 

The whole exchange takes only a fraction of a few seconds, and it takes even less time for Crane to crack him once in the face and break his nose. Blood gushes from Yasu’s nose and he gurgles, but Crane still doesn’t stop there. While he usually prefers to make his kills quick, he’d rather Yasu suffers, so he grabs him by the collar and bashes his head down against the ground until he stops moving.

 

Panting, woozy, swaying, he looks up at Lewis with blood sprayed across his face, and the dizziness combines with the blood loss and he collapses sideways, rolling off Yasu’s body. He’s unconscious before he hits the tiles.

 

“Wait-“ Lewis chokes, trying to reach out his hand as Crane collapses in front of him, “Wait, wait, no, you can’t, Crane, you can’t-“

 

And then there’s nothing. Just silence, the roaring in his ears, and the two bodies on the floor in front of him.

 

The room is a wreck – the white tile splashed with bright blood, bits of plaster falling from bullet holes in the walls, dust and torture items scattered across the floor. Dimly, Lewis wonders if there’s police on this planet, if there’s someone coming, how long he’s going to be left trussed to a wooden frame watching the bodies of his lover and the man he wanted to trust.

 

He can’t see either of them breathing. It must be the angle, it must be the way Crane’s fallen on his side. He has to still be breathing.

 

“Crane,” Lewis’s voice sounds small and empty and lost. “Hannibal. Please. Please don’t leave.”


	38. Chapter 38

Minutes pass. Lewis is left hanging there, crying quietly, the only sounds are his own muted, pained sobs and his heart pounding in his chest. Crane is dead, he’s succumbed to blood loss, and now the only thing that would have kept Lewis going after his death - revenge on Yasu - is also lying dead at his feet.

 

Dangling, ropes biting into his skin enough to rub his wrists open into bleeding, he hears a sound. Lifting his head he sees Crane slowly rolling over onto his hands and knees. He coughs, hacks up a dark spot of blood before slowly, slowly raising to his feet.

 

Limping, he clutches his side and makes his way to the knife embedded in the wall. It’ll be easier to cut Lewis down than untie his knots. He doesn’t make eye contact with Lewis as he slices the ropes off his legs first so he won’t fall forward, his heart aching. He loves Lewis so fiercely that even if he left him, he’d still cross the universe to protect him. He slices the knots from around his waist, his chest, his neck, and finally his arms.

 

Prepared to catch his lover (ex-lover, he reminds himself) as the last lengths of rope fall from his body, even though he’s injured, Crane drops the knife and opens his arms into a bracing position.

 

Lewis falls heavily into Crane’s arms, bringing them both to their knees, Crane whimpering with pain as the heavier man stumbles against him. He reaches out to brush the hair away from Lewis’s face. And Lewis looks straight past him, blue eyes cold and distant, and shoves him aside.

 

When Crane sat up, Lewis could clearly see Yasu breathing, his eyelids fluttering weakly. The thunderstorm in his head has been growing, gathering around him as Crane cut away his ties, dark as the bruises spreading across his lovers body. And as soon as his feet touch the ground, Lewis darts forwards, launching himself at the prone figure just re-opening his eyes.

 

Yasu barely has time to get his hands up before Lewis lays into him. He draws back and kicks with all the force of his momentum into the other man’s ribs, feeling them break, ignoring the muted cries of pain from the body underneath his feet. No one is ever going to lie to him like this again. No one is ever going to hurt Crane like this again. Yasu curls up in agony and Lewis stomps viciously down on his side.

 

And then he’s on his knees again, fists smashing past Yasu’s upturned hands, breaking his cheekbone, slamming his head against the tile floor with a sickening crack. Lewis doesn’t stop. The thunderhead fogs his eyes, making everything dim except for the bright flashes of blood under his hands His fists rain down on Yasu, thudding into his flesh. His knuckles split open. He’s soundless except for his raspy breathing, just one notch removed from sobs.

 

There’s hands on his shoulders, pulling him away. There’s a low voice he’s loved and waited for all his life. The stormclouds roll away, and he’s left staring blankly at the blood on his fingers, and the battered, broken body at his feet.

 

Crane takes a few steps back when Lewis whirls on him, throwing his hands up to defend himself. As if he would be any match for Lewis right now, enraged and uninjured. He steps on one of the discarded guns and drops like a rock, throwing an arm up in front of him with ears tilted back, silently begging Lewis not to advance on him as he turns his head away and closes his eyes.

 

His stomach is churning from watching the man destroy Yasu. He isn’t even recognizeable as a person anymore, his face all but caved in, blood bright and puddling on the floor. He can smell the powerful coppery odor, it makes him feel sick. He can’t think of many people who would deserve a fate like that.

 

It takes Lewis a moment to realize what’s happening, what he’s done. Again. And then he looks down and there’s Crane, wounded, kneeling on the floor with his arm flung up in front of his face, terrified. Terrified of _him_.

 

Lewis stumbles backwards, shaking his head, hands raised as if in surrender, barely avoiding tripping over Yasu’s body. He can’t look at it. He backs into the far wall and sinks down against it, feet sliding out from under him on the slick tile floor. He slowly looks down at his hands, smeared with blood – his and Yasu’s, but mostly Yasu’s – turning them over slowly, spreading his fingers like he doesn’t understand that they belong to him.

 

He raises his gaze to Crane, wide-eyed, dropping his hands to his lap. The room is so silent. There’s blood splattered across his face, drying there. He’s just beaten an unarmed, injured man to death in the sight of the man he loves.

 

Lewis opens his mouth, but he can’t think of a single thing to say.

 

The nausea gets to Crane. He hurdles out of the room, paws slipping on wet tiles, and he locates Yasu’s bathroom. He doesn’t even make it to the toilet, he just doubles over the sink and lets loose a thin wave of bile. He hasn’t eaten in quite some time, so there’s nothing but acid scorching his throat as he gags and hacks through it.

 

Exhausted, he slumps to the floor of the bathroom, still clutching the edge of the sink. Heart pounding, muscles quivering, he hasn’t been this tired in a long time. He just sits there, quietly and tearlessly sobbing. Yasu is dead - nobody could survive a beating like that - but it didn’t fix anything. Lewis still left him. Lewis still had sex with Yasu. He’s lost him forever, even after coming so close to having him back, Lewis is within his reach, but still a thousand miles away.

 

The distance between them is physically only a few yards, but he feels like he could walk for years and never catch up to Lewis.

 

Lewis winces as Crane darts past him out of the room, but he doesn’t follow. What could he possibly gain by chasing him? Crane is a good person. He came after him. And Lewis? Lewis is monstrous. All he knows how to do is hurt. And Crane’s been hurt enough.

 

He raises his hand to wipe away the slow tears running down his cheeks and recoils, shuddering. He has to get this blood off. He can’t bear to have it on his skin. Staggering to his feet, he lurches toward the bathroom, shaking, horrified, only to see Crane crouched bloody in the open doorway, head hanging, sobbing, small and alone.

 

Lewis stops dead, shivering, reaching out one of his awful, gory hands towards Crane before realizing again what he’s doing and snatching it back. He’s crying in earnest now. He can’t touch Crane anymore. He doesn’t deserve to touch Crane anymore.

 

Turning quickly away, he makes his way to the kitchen, scrubbing his hands in the sink until they’re raw, the water stinging his split knuckles. At least the only blood on his hands will be his own. He walks to the guest bedroom in a haze, grabbing his clothes from the night before – two days before? He’s lost track of how long it’s been since he came to this apartment. It seems like forever.

 

He tries not to listen for Crane as he dresses, tries not to think of how he’s leaving him injured and alone. It’s better this way. It has to be. He shoulders his messenger bag and steps out into the living room again.

 

Crane listens for Lewis, his sharp ears trained on him. Surely... he’ll at least come to check on him. Just because he left him for another man - a dead man - doesn’t mean he never cared about Crane. He’ll come check on him, call an ambulance for him...

 

Something. _Anything_. Won’t he?

 

He hears him heading for the front door, and his heart sinks into his stomach. Sorrow whirls into a volcano of anger, and he hauls himself to his feet before Lewis can reach the front door. Clinging to the door frame of the bathroom, he tries to sound sure of himself or at least strong, but his voice comes out in a cracked and warped warble.

 

“Is that it then? You’re leaving again?” his voice is a dry sob. Nevermind it was him who’d originally told Lewis to leave the room.... but he’d only just meant the room. “Are you leaving me for good this time? Nobody left to run off to, so now that I’m left over you’re just going to leave?” tears stream down his face, stinging and burning him. “Do you not want me anymore?” he sobs, his shoulders shaking. He’s so exhausted, he’s so fucking exhausted. He wishes he’d died when Yasu shot him.

 

Lewis turns, already crying again. All his resolve, all his determination to do the right thing, to cut Crane off before he hurts him even worse, falls away. He starts across the living room, hands shaking, reaching out to Crane to hold him, kiss him, dress his wounds –

 

He stops, dropping his hands to his sides. The memory of the last time he embraced Crane is burned onto his memory, the awful scream of pain, the way he huddled against the bed…

 

“It’s not like that, it’s not… I want you more than anything, I need you, I love you, it’s just…” He gazes hopelessly at the bloodied, beaten form in front of him, yearning to touch him, and terrified. “I keep hurting you-”he finally gasps, sinking onto Yasu’s couch with his hands over his face.

 

“Then why did you have sex with him?” Crane’s voice trembles, clinging to the door frame. “If you love me and need me so much why did you _fuck him?”_

 

For a moment Lewis has no idea what he’s talking about. The gunfight, the… the other thing, they’d driven it out of his mind entirely. Then he looks up, wide-eyed.

 

“I didn’t,” He tells Crane, “I never even wanted to. He…” And then he stops. It sounds unbelievable, not even like a good lie. And Yasu’s not able to confirm or deny it. “He’s… he was good at impressions.” Lewis mutters, looking away. “On the phone. That was him. Just him.”

 

Crane stares mutely at Lewis. Anger simmers and then boils and like a kettle it bursts out of him. “Are you serious!?” his voice cracks. “Of all the things you could have come up with, of all the lies you could have told, you pick _puppetry?_ For fuck’s sake, Lewis, if you wanted to fuck him just be honest!”

 

He can’t even get angry. If he were in Crane’s place he’d never believe it. But Lewis can’t think of anything else to prove it. Well, there’s one thing.

 

“If. If I fucked him. If I wanted him.” He says slowly, closing his eyes and forcing himself to say the words. “I… I wouldn’t have killed him.” When the phrase leaves his mouth he slumps, staring down at his knuckles again, unable to meet Crane’s eyes.

 

“Bullshit,” Crane says weakly. He wants to believe him, god he wants to believe him. “I’ve fucked plenty of people I wanted to kill, and vice versa.”

 

He slumps down to the floor, still clutching the door frame. His legs are too weak to support him anymore. The bullet in his side aches like a brand held against his skin for hours. His shoulders tremble and his head is bowed, ears back and tail limp on the floor. He tries to get his breathing under control, but they’re coming out in quiet, shaking sobs.

 

Lewis isnt’ a liar. He’s never been a liar. He’s always been so up front and honest. The idea of _impressions_ is so far-fetched... But then again, Yasu was a trained assassin, a trained spy. If anyone would be able to mimic voices...

 

He has only one question left, his voice wavering, but he squeezes the words out of his throat. “Do you... Still want me?”

 

Lewis draws up his feet onto the couch, burying his face in his knees. He hates his own weakness, he hates himself for telling the truth. “Yes,” He says, voice muffled. “Always.”

 

Crane gives a strangled sound. “Then come and take me,” he says, his voice unsteady and shattered. “I don’t think I can walk anymore.”

 

Hesitantly, Lewis gets to his feet and approaches Crane. “It’s…it’s okay? To touch you? I don’t want to hurt you…”

 

Crane nods his weary head, and Lewis wraps his arms around the other man’s waist as carefully as he can. Wincing, Crane slumps against his chest. And just like that, Lewis is home.

 

“I’m so sorry.” He mumbles into the top of Crane’s head. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave,” Crane babbles, holding on tightly to Lewis. He’s in so much pain he’s delirious, but he’d never let go of Lewis now. He wouldn’t let go if that was the one thing that would save him from death. He’d rather die in his arms.

 

Besides, the pain in his body is nothing compared to the overwhelming wave of relief that comes with having Lewis back in his arms. The tears are back and he’s sobbing, aggravating his ribs as he clings to Lewis, slumped on the floor. “I’m sorry for what I said I’m sorry I told you to leave I’m sorry I called you names I’m sorry I lied I’m sorry I hid things I’m sorry I’m a horrible man- ” he sobs desperately, his voice scorched and raw in his throat. “Please don’t leave, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me, I need you, I love you, please, oh my god, oh god please-”

 

Lewis is crying too, shaking with love and guilt and sorrow. He strokes back Crane’s good ear, leaning against the wall to support Crane as gently as he can, trying so hard to keep him safe.

 

“It’s okay, you’re not… you’re not, you’re so good… you’re everything to me. I love you so fucking much.” His voice is breaking as he comforts Crane almost as incoherently as Crane is now. They’re sitting on a dead man’s bathroom floor, Crane is bruised and bleeding with a bullet in his side, but he’s there. He’s real, he’s alive, he’s come back over and over again.

 

“Never,” Lewis whispers fiercely. “I’m never leaving you.”

 

Crane sobs, loudly, hoarsely. Everything hurts, every muscle and fiber in his body hurts. But he won’t let go as long as he lives. The house could be burning down around them and he wouldn’t let go.

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shortish, I apologize

Getting off the planet is nerve-wracking. They barely have time to collect their things and check out- or at least, in their own minds they’re trying to beat some sort of clock. Police never showed up to Yasu’s apartment even though there were shots fired and they stayed there for almost an hour after, getting properly cleaned up, and they even took some of his food. After all, he wasn’t going to be eating it.

 

Crane was unable to get any medical care, for obvious reasons. Getting arrested for murder is the last thing they need right now. They make a plan to stop at the nearest planet for medical attention- just a few hours’ drive. Thank god for Lewis learning how to drive, because Crane needed the five hours of sleep he got on the ride to the tiny planet Bildo.

 

After a 12-hour stay in a hospital, Crane was released and they started the long journey back to Titaniosphere. They don’t talk much in the cruiser, only speaking whenever they ask the other if they’re hungry or sleepy or if they want to switch drivers.

 

They’re only a couple hours from the planet - it’s a speck in the distance already - when Crane speaks up.

 

“Titanium is going to hurt me,” he says quietly from the passenger’s seat, staring straight ahead at the speck they’re headed for. “He’s going to hurt me very badly. The fact that I’m already injured won’t stay his hand. He wanted that deal more than anything... and I failed.”

 

Lewis swallows hard and stops the cruiser. He’s not going to be able to drive and have this conversation. In fact, he’s probably not going to be able to have this conversation at all – he’s the reason for Crane’s failure and initial injuries. And once again he’s getting off scott free while Crane is brutalized, or worse.

 

“Is he going to kill you?” He forces himself to ask. There’s a harsh note in his voice that he can’t stand, and he has to look away.

 

“I doubt it,” Crane says, looking down at his hands. “Failing one deal won’t get me killed. I’m still useful to him. It’s just... grounds for punishment. And considering how badly he wanted the deal, I’d wager severe punishment. But I don’t think he’d kill me for it.”

 

“But it’ll be bad,” Lewis slumps in his seat, rubbing at his forehead. “And you won’t be able to avoid it.” He lets out a heavy sigh, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “And I won’t be able to help you. Even though I'm the one who - ” He cuts himself off. It's not about him.

 

“You’re the one who what?” Crane looks over at him in a deadpan. “You made me lose the deal? I lost it on the first day. Every day after that was just spent trying to convince him to change his mind, and collecting injuries for my insolence.”

 

“And Yasu?” Lewis mumbles, closing his eyes. “He wanted to get you to leave. He wouldn’t have been able to get at you like that if I hadn’t been stupid enough to think he was my friend. He got in my head enough that I abandoned you. He… everything with him… it’s because of me not being good enough.”

 

He hunches his shoulders forwards, letting his hands fall off the steering wheel. Crane and he have been studiously avoiding the topic of Yasu since they left his apartment. In some ways, it wasn’t important – Crane’s injuries took precedence, not to mention escaping the planet intact – but to Lewis it’s been a constant heavy weight around his neck.

 

Crane frowns deeply and sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You are good enough. You’re better than everything else in my life, combined. Yasu is- was a mastermind. He was trained for years to be in the position he was in. Titanium gave me a little information on him, he was trained to be one of the most ruthless spies in the galaxy. Nobody could have evaded him, he was too good at what he did. It was my fault for not putting together two and two when you told me about him. I was so _stupid_ for not making that connection,” he spits bitterly, casting his view out the window beside him.

 

“It’s not your…” Lewis suddenly realizes that if he excuses Crane, tells him it’s not his fault, as is his immediate impulse, he’ll have to give himself an out too. But it _isn’t_ Crane’s fault, he was manipulated and lied to and kept in the dark and… ah. Well.

 

Lewis drops his head into his hands, bitterly ashamed of himself. “Sorry. That was stupid. It isn’t your fault. It’s… that part isn't mine either. I guess. Fuck.”

 

“Look, a lot of things happened that both of us could have avoided but neither of us did, so the blame is shared,” Crane says, trying to pull Lewis out of his spiral of self-pity before it gets to be too bad. He sighs, his breath fogging the window, and he clunks his forehead against the glass. “No, you know whose fault it is? Yasu. It’s Yasu’s damn fault.”

 

“Yeah,” Lewis says in a small voice. He takes a deep breath, forcing every thought of Yasu away from him, from the first encounter in the bar to the weeks spent wandering with him, to the gun in his face, the betrayal, the…. the thing that came after that. He finally opens his eyes, turning back to Crane, his face betraying his fears despite his best efforts to keep it impassive.

 

“You… you have to promise you won’t die. I can’t live without you,” He says in a rush, and ducks his head, embarrassed and horrified.

 

Crane reaches across the gap between them and takes one of Lewis’ hands in his own. He rubs his thumb across the back of his hand, and leans down to brush his nose and whiskers over his lover’s knuckles. “I’ve no intention to die by Titanium’s hand,” he promises quietly, nuzzling Lewis’ fingers. “He’s taken everything from me. He won’t take my life too.”

 

“He better not,” Lewis says quietly, closing his hand tightly around Crane’s. “He’s already done the worst shit in the universe to you. I won’t…. I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

 

Crane’s stomach lurches uneasily as he realizes that if the worse comes to worst... and Titanium goes too far - a possibility he didn’t even want to entertain with Lewis for fear of him spiraling into that train of thought - there’s nothing to keep Lewis from charging Titanium with a deathwish, hoping foolishly for vengeance. Now he doesn’t have a choice but to address it.

 

He wracks his brain. He has to come up with something to keep Lewis from running headfirst into his death. He’s not terribly afraid of dying, but he refuses to take Lewis down with him.

 

“Look... if... if it goes bad. If Titanium goes too far...” he says shakily, knowing Lewis is already panicking at the possibility. “It probably won’t happen. But _if_ it does... I need you to promise me you’ll find my brother and let him know. In person. Go to him and let him know to his face. He deserves more than just a phone call or a text message about it...”

 

The possibility, even mentioned vaguely, of Crane’s death makes Lewis’s skin crawl. But he forces himself to stay calm, to be responsible, to be brave.

 

“I… I can do that. I promise. I swear. But you have to promise me back, okay?”

 

Lewis takes a deep breath, squeezing his hand tight around Crane’s again, turning to look at him for the first time since this conversation has started.

 

“Promise you won’t hide this from me again. I can handle it. I’m tougher than you think. I know I can’t protect you from shit, but at least let me help you when you’re hurt. Tell me when you’re hurt. Please, please, please promise not to hide this shit from me again, because if I hurt you again – “ Lewis breaks off, ducking his head.

 

Crane nods gravely. “I won’t ever hide it again,” he swears. It’ll be scary, watching Lewis’ eyes darken with anger every time he sees the cuts and bruises on Crane’s body, but it’ll be worth it to never have a fight like they had again. “When it’s over and Titanium has... had his fill, I’ll text you. I’ll let you know where I am and that I’m okay. I’ll text you right away, the second I’m alone. Even if he breaks all my fingers, I’ll call you, if he strangles me until I can’t speak I’ll text you with my damn nose. No matter what he does, no matter what, I will contact you.”

 

“Okay.” Lewis whispers, staring down at his knees. “Okay. And I won’t… I won’t break down. I won’t scare you. It’s just… this last time… I didn’t know, I didn’t… and I hurt you, and I can’t… I won’t do that to you again.”

 

He draws in a long, shuddering breath, and turns back to Crane, looking him in the eyes. “It’s okay if I get upset when you’re hurt. It’s because I love you. But I can handle it. No matter how bad it gets. Just so long as you let me be there for you. Okay? Just… just let me know how bad it is.”

 

Crane nods in promise. It probably would have been good if they’d come to this conclusion a long time ago, but it’s better late than never. Crane doesn’t release Lewis’ hand for the remaining couple hours as they close in on Titaniosphere. 


	40. Chapter 40

Crane stops Lewis from getting out of the cruiser after he’s pulled into the parking lot under their apartment building. Lewis closes the door immediately and settles back down into his seat.

 

“When we go upstairs, it’s going to be trashed,” he says in a low voice. “I’ve had to have windows replaced before, it’s gotten so bad in the past. I just... want you to be prepared for that. It could be ugly, and we could be up all night fixing it.”

 

“It’s okay,” Lewis says confidently. He’s so happy to be back home. Even the parking garage feels like a refuge. He almost bounds out of the cruiser, lifting a box of his clothes out of the backseat, leading Crane into the elevator. Whatever’s been done to the apartment, it’s still home, it’s still the small space he knows with every fiber of his being, where he fell in love with Crane and where he’ll fall asleep in Crane’s arms.

 

When the elevator door opens, his arms go limp, almost spilling his clothes across the hardwood floor.

 

The compasses he strung up once upon a time, the ones Crane spent so much time carefully rearranging, are lying smashed and scattered across the floor. Crane’s clothes are spread haphazardly, mingling with the glass from the compasses, like a trap. Lewis glances up and notices the closet has been ripped open, and a cold shock runs down his spine – _the gun_ , the gun Lewis bought from him, the one he shoved away unloaded to protect his lover. - he dashes forward, falling to his knees to sort through the boxes in the base of Crane’s closet, disregarding the shards of glass that cut into his knees and palms as he sorts through the debris.

 

Crane walks in on numb paws, cataloging the smaller, less obvious damage. He sees rips in the foam dome over his bed where it looks like someone took to it with a knife for no reason other than to cause damage. He sees the hook he’d painstakingly installed in the ceiling has been torn down, and a few pipes near the tall ceiling are damaged - which will cost a lot to repair. His toilet is clearly cracked, his shower door has been smashed, the door to his oven is warped so it doesn’t close all the way, his refrigerator door has been left open so the whole place reeks of the couple food items he had left inside.

 

Suddenly feeling weak, he crouches down and sits on his heels, clutching his hands over his head and just breathing calmly through his nose. He tries to count his blessings - at least he doesn’t have to pay to have a new giant pane of glass fitted in the big windows that line his wall again, at least they didn’t set anything on fire again - but it’s hard to be positive while looking down at the warped body of a compass at his feet missing its glass.

 

Lewis has worked his way to the very back of the closet, where his fingers close around the base of the gun. And, absurdly, it’s in the same position as he last left it. Either Titanium and his cronies are more haphazard, or more clever than he thought.

 

Certainly Titanium’s made no pretense of tossing the rest of the apartment. Everything is scattered around the small room, broken and battered and tossed aside. Lewis withdraws out of the closet, his hands bloody without him realizing, and picks his way across the sea of broken compasses to Crane.

 

“It’s okay,” He murmurs, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms gently around Crane’s shoulders. “It’s okay. We’re both safe, we’re both alive, we can fix this, we can make it okay….” He’s not sure they can, to be honest, but no matter what, at the end of the day, he’ll do whatever the hell he can to be safe the next morning.

 

Crane doesn’t react to Lewis very much. He steeples his hands over his face, taking calm breaths. He won’t cry. He won’t grace Titanium’s bullshit with his tears. He hasn’t in years, and he won’t start again now.

 

“Lets just sweep up all the glass,” he says, his voice cracking a bit, and he clears his throat. “I’m going to have to go in to see him first thing in the morning. The longer I wait to go in, the worse my punishment will be. I’d prefer not to be up until dawn cleaning, so lets just... I’ll sweep if you can make the trips to get everything from the car. I shouldn’t really be doing any heavy lifting right now.”

 

“No, don’t be stupid.” Lewis brushes Crane’s ears back gently. “You don’t have to do shit. You’re going to…” he pauses, sighing, resting his cheek against Crane’s. “You’re going to have a hard time tomorrow.” He says limply. “I can take care of it. You have to take care of yourself.”

 

“I’m not going to let you clean the whole place yourself,” Crane leans into Lewis feebly. As exhausted as he is, as much as he’d love to give Lewis the whole load - especially since he offered - he still feels wrong letting him do all the work. If for nothing else, he’d like the distraction from his impending doom the next day.

 

“Yes you are,” Lewis says firmly, standing, drawing Crane up with him. “It’s not a problem. And you’re fucked up enough already. You need to sleep. You need to take care of yourself.”

 

He maneuvers Crane into bed with a small amount of difficulty – Crane is clearly exhausted, hurting, desperately needing rest. Turning away, Lewis considers the damage. It takes him a long time to sweep up the broken glass, the scraps of fluff across the floor, but he manages to salvage most of the compasses – only trashing the ones utterly beyond repair, the ones that still have dangerous glass slivers hanging in their faces.

 

Finally, when the worst of the damage is taken care of, when the floor is no longer a minefield of sharp glass, and the tiny cuts on his own hands have stopped bleeding, Lewis takes off his boots and changes into pajamas, dropping into bed gratefully, curling carefully around Crane’s sleeping form. Even thought Crane only whimpers in his sleep, he presses closer against Lewis’s body.

 

Closing his eyes, he snuggles against Crane, memorizing every inch of him, taking every opportunity to touch his skin. It’ll be a while before they can be together again, from the sound of it, and he wants to take every opportunity to touch his lover while he has the chance.

 

Morning comes millennia too soon. Crane would have turned on his other side to face Lewis, but given the rib damage that was only just barely treated at the hospital, it’s not really an option. Lewis can tell he’s awake - neither of them slept very well - and offers to make him breakfast. But Crane declines, saying he’d prefer not to throw it up later, which is inevitable.

 

He dresses in clothes he won’t miss losing to Titanium’s destruction- a simple white cotton tank and black sweats. He’s not sure how else to prepare for getting the shit kicked out of him, so he just spends ten minutes standing in the middle of the apartment, locked in a lengthy embrace with Lewis.

 

“I’ll contact you,” he promises Lewis, holding his face in both hands and resting his forehead against his lover’s chin. “I promise.”

 

With nothing else to do but meet his fate, he catches a cab to Titanium’s mansion instead of driving his own cruiser there. Chances are he’ll be leaving in an ambulance anyway. Facing the massive doors at the front, staring up the staircase that seems to stretch on for a mile, he takes the first step.

 

 

 

 

===

 

 

 

 

After Crane leaves, Lewis doesn’t know what to do with himself. Every one of his nerves is on edge, he checks his comm every ten minutes even though he knows Crane won’t text him for hours. He’s desperate to know his lover is okay, alive, at least able to type on a keyboard.

 

It’s fruitless, of course – Crane is likely being beaten, abused horribly as he sits there swiping at his phone. Lewis can’t stop the horrible mental images, but he can’t think of anything else to do. He ends up forcing himself to sleep at one in the afternoon, rather than think about the horrors his lover is facing.

 

He wakes up at noon the next day, and there’s still no text from Crane. There should be a text from Crane. There should be _something_. And he knows Crane will keep his promise, no matter what. So that means he _can’t_ contact Lewis. So either he’s been robbed of his comm, or he’s unconscious, or… Lewis cuts that train of thought off immediately. Crane is alive. He has to be.

 

Shouldering his bag, he scans through his comm for area hospitals, looking up directions to each one. If he knows anything about Titanium, he knows he wouldn’t spare the expense to send Crane far away for health care. So he must be close. And if he’s close, if he’s even on this planet, Lewis is going to find him in time.

 

There are three hospitals within reasonable distance, so he hops in his little cruiser, the one he isn’t even technically licensed to drive, and drives to the nearest one faster than he probably should. He doesn’t even park in the parking lot, he stalls in the drop-off lane and tears into the lobby.

 

Out of breath, he gives the receptionist Crane’s first and last name, clinging to the edge of her desk as she slowly searches through the records of inpatients before finally telling him there’s nobody there with that name.

 

He barely gives her time to finish her sentence before he’s charging back into his cruiser and pulls out of the lane before he even has his seatbelt on all the way. One down, two to go. He’ll be in one of them. It’s not an option.

 

White-knuckling his steering wheel, he makes it to the second hospital in record time. Rinse and repeat, he rushes up to the desk, feeling a little queasy with nerves at this point. At least this receptionist can sense his urgency and flips through his records a little quicker, but tells Lewis with a sorrowful expression that nobody has been checked into the hospital in the last 48 hours under that name.

 

Lewis speeds the whole way to the last hospital. The next one is a six hour drive away, but he’ll drive there if he has to. He’ll visit every hospital on this damn planet if it takes him a week. As the last hospital looms into view and he pulls up into its drop-off lane, his stomach drops. If they tell him Crane isn’t there... while he’ll still be in denial and visit every hospital he can find, he knows truly what it will mean.

 

He doesn’t run this time. He begs the receptionist, “I’m looking for a guy named Hannibal Crane, he got the tar kicked out of him by a guy, is he here? Please tell me he’s here.”

 

She clicks through her records. “Assault and battery...” she mutters, typing in Crane’s name, and her screen comes up blank. She frowns and shakes her head, looking back up and Lewis. “No, I’m sorry. No one here like that.”

 

Lewis goes limp, grimacing, horrified. “Please.” He says, leaning on the counter, bowing his head. “Please, please just tell me he’s alive.”

 

The receptionist shakes her head sympathetically, but it feels so cruel to Lewis. He turns away, pressing his fists against his forehead, wracking his brains for other hospitals, other possibilities, anything that means Crane isn’t dead.

 

“Sorry, Hannibal Crane?” A voice materializes at his shoulder, and Lewis turns to see a short redheaded nurse motioning him over. “We do have a patient by that name. But he was injured in a car accident, not a beating. Are you sure this is the right person?”

 

Lewis nods, breathless. He’ll deal with the awfulness of Titanium later. For now he’s terrified that Crane is no longer alive, that he can once again hold his lover in his arms.

 

The nurse flips through her clipboard. “He’s one of the patients on my list. He’s in stable condition, but he has yet to wake up since he was released from 13-hour surgery nine hours ago. Would you like to visit him? We can sign you in at the front desk.”

 

At the mention of being logged, of being taken note of, Lewis steps backwards. “I-it’s okay. But thank you,” He says quickly, backing towards the exit. “I appreciate it.” And he’s barely able to flee before he’s crying with barely containable relief that Crane is alive and stable.

 

But without being able to visit him in the hospital, without being able to hold his hand… Lewis jams his hands into his pockets, frustrated and upset. Crane will be so far away. He’ll be lonely. And it’s useless to lie – Lewis will be too. And after so long hiding from each other and separated by circumstance, it’s almost unbearable.

 

The next day is unbearable. Now that he knows which hospital to call, he can ask for Crane by phone. He’s told the first day that he still hasn’t woken up, and he starts to worry. What if Titanium beat him so badly that he gave him brain damage and he’ll never wake up? That’s worse than if he was just dead- to be so close to life, and have the last step robbed from them both-

 

He spends the next day busy with repairs. He bangs out the dents from as many compasses as he can and hangs them back up, he calls a repairman for the oven and toilet, he buys a sewing kit and spends several hours just putting stitches in the slashes in Crane’s bed. He has to make the place presentable, he wants Crane to come home as though nothing bad ever happened to him.

 

But when the next day, the hospital tells him Crane still hasn’t woken up - and they swear they don’t have him on any medication making him sleep - Lewis can’t take the idle waiting anymore. He forces himself to go back to work with a heavy heart, and he knows his co-workers will worry about where he’s been and about his obvious bad mood, but he won’t complain to any of them. They don’t need his stress on their shoulders.

 

“Are you okay?” Kelly, one of the waiters, asks Lewis after he punches the wall loudly when he drops a crate of lettuce.

 

“Sorry. Fuck. I just…” He hesitates, but Kelly’s a good person – they’re all good people. “I… my partner… he got hurt in a… a car accident.” It infuriates him to go along with the lie, but even with his coworkers, he can’t trust anyone. Yasu taught him that. “He’s in a coma. For two days now.”

 

Kelly immediately enfolds him in a comforting hug, her long red hair tickling his nose. Lewis tells himself that’s why he’s tearing up.

 

“Oh, honey…” She murmurs, stepping back, “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk to Jules? Ask for more days off? I’m sure somebody can cover for you.”

 

Lewis shakes his head. He knows his manager Jules would give him the time off – they’re overstaffed at the moment anyway, which was the only reason he could head off planet at a moment’s notice in the first place – but with Crane’s medical bills and the uncertainty of the situation, he wants as many hours as he can get.

 

“It’s fine. I just… sorry if I’m being an asshole. I’m just so fucking scared. And I can’t visit him. I can’t even hold his hand.” He looks away, blushing, avoiding Kelly’s gaze. And then, naturally, just as he’s admitting his fear, someone else turns the corner.

 

“Am I, um, should I leave?” asks Aaron, the dishwasher Lewis defended from Titanium’s henchman almost six months ago. Aaron’s gotten a little more confident, but he’s still awkward and nervous, reminding Lewis more than anything of his sister. They even have the same big brown eyes, although Aaron's a tall, skinny hispanic kid and Cynda is a short chubby white girl.

 

“It’s nothing- “ Lewis starts out, but Kelly interrupts him.

 

“Lewis can’t visit his boyfriend who’s in a fricking coma,” She blurts out, and then covers her mouth. “Oh, my god, I’m sorry, you probably didn’t want that spread around.”

 

In spite of himself, Lewis laughs. Kelly has probably the best intentions in the world, but she’s an incurable gossip.

 

“Why can’t you visit?” Aaron asks. He’s a lot more intuitive than Kelly, for all she tries to be the unofficial mom of the restaurant.

 

“It’s, um… complicated.” Lewis says quietly, trying to figure out a way to talk about it that’s safe. “He’s… okay, look, I’m not going to get into it but we’re not supposed to be dating, and they log visitors to the hospital – you’re only allowed in if you’re family, or if you leave your info at the front desk. And it’s not like I’m some kind of escaped criminal or some shit but long story short I can’t do that. So I’m stuck just… just waiting.” He slumps back against the cooler door, mouth twitching with frustration.

 

“Hey, Lewis. If we can help, is this something you’re ok with Jules knowing about? Because I mean… you know she’ll help if she can.” Says Aaron, running his hands over his cornrows awkwardly. “And I mean, I got an idea where we can help… I mean, well, if you’re ok with it.”

 

“Of course he is,” Kelly says authoritatively, and then turns back to Lewis, who’s blushing and looking away again, stunned that his coworkers would care this much. “Aren’t you?”

 

“S-sure,” He mumbles, reaching for the crate of lettuce again. And then he tries his best to lose himself in the lunch rush, almost getting himself to forget about the entire conversation until Jules calls him into the cooler at the end of his shift.

 

“I heard,” is the first thing she says, before the door is even closed all the way, and she pulls the little curtain down in front of the window to give them privacy and claps her hands over his shoulders to give him what little comfort is appropriate for her to give. “The others have all been whispering about it all day. Do you want to tell me why you can’t visit him? I won’t discuss it with the others if you ask me not to.”

 

Lewis runs his hands through his hair, embarrassed and nervous. “It’s… god. I really don’t mean to- I mean it’s so fucking unprofessional to bring this shit to work and I’m so sorry about it. I mean… look, okay, I appreciate Aaron talking to you about it but I can’t afford to take days off and this is a personal problem and…” He trails off, realizing he’s babbling. But still, Jules is one of the first bosses he’s ever trusted enough that he’ll be honest with her. She’s been good to him from day one at the restaurant, from telling him ahead of time when she has to cut his hours, to letting him know when his register counts are off, to letting him have extra hours when he’s clearly struggling for money. It’s hard, but Lewis forces himself to speak.

 

“It’s not… I swear to god I’m not a liability to the restaurant, and if this ever gets into work I’ll quit, I swear, but… my boyfriend works for Stark Titanium. And I’m… I know Titanium logs everything. So I can’t visit him. And I swear to god it’s not anything bad about me or my boyfriend, it’s just…I can’t be seen visiting him. And I can’t explain it more than that. I’m so sorry.”

 

Jules folds her arms while she listens, her face a polite deadpan. She nods every few words in understanding, but lets his ambling sentences shuffle to an end before she speaks up again. “I take it he’s not one of the big furry thugs,” she says, trying to rise a smile out of Lewis, and it half works when he shakes his head with a bitter smirk. “So, he logs everything. Aaron and the others have been brainstorming, and we’ve got an idea that can get you in unnoticed.”

 

“God, you really don’t have to…” Lewis stops mid-thought. “Wait, sorry, what idea.”

 

“We’ve all synced our schedules. Tomorrow night at six PM when your shift ends, I’m going to close shop early and we’re all going to troupe up there together. We’ll go in one of the vans, and we’ll be registered as a group. You won’t be a name, you’ll just be one of the faces. Then once you’re in, we’re going to kill time in the lounge so you can have some alone time with him until you’re ready to leave. Does that sound good for you?”

 

“You’re not… oh my god,” Lewis has to sit down on a crate of frozen bean sprouts, breathless.

 

“You don’t have to do that for me. You really don’t. I mean. Thank you. But it’s… I can manage it…” He can’t even make himself coherent, unused to support as he is. He can’t remember the last time he’s had people band together around him like this. Probably never, if he’s honest. He goes bright red, hot in the face despite the fact that his breath is fogging in the freezer.

 

“We’ve already done it. Bring anything you want him to have at the hospital to work with you tomorrow, we’re going to leave directly from here,” she rests a hand on his shoulder until he looks up at her. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got your back.”

 

“Christ,” Lewis mumbles under his breath. “You’re the best boss I’ve ever had, you know that?” He lets out a shaky laugh, and shakes his head. “I mean, not like that’s any kind of hint for a raise, but…”

 

They both laugh at that, and Jules claps him on the back and tells him of course he’s not getting a raise. And Lewis goes home that night, for the first time in days, with some sort of hope.

 

The next day after his shift ends, true to her word, his manager puts the restaurant on skeleton crew, and the rest of them – her, Kelly, Aaron, the other two waiters and another line cook – all pile into the catering van and follow Lewis’s tenuous directions to the hospital. When they arrive, Jules marches directly to the front desk and authoritatively states that the lot of them are there to see Hannibal Crane.

 

Lewis, with one of Crane’s stocking caps jammed unconvincingly over his horns, feels his heart beating painfully in his chest, but somehow no one bars them entry. And the rest of his coworkers wait in the hallway, Jules and Kelly both hugging him before he pushes open the door to Crane’s room, breathless and terrified.

 

All at once, he wishes he’d never told any of his coworkers about Crane. Seeing him on the bed makes him feel sick. His head is wrapped in a bandage, one of his ears is hopefully flattened down by the cotton, or else he’s lost it entirely. He has a breathing tubs taped down his throat and his face and arms - the only things visible over the thin sheet - are a medley of bruises and lacerations. His right forearm is wrapped up in a cast, and there’s probably more damage he can’t even see under the blanket.

 

Car accident. Titanium beat him so badly he might literally be missing a body part, and he’s blamed it on a car accident. He’s blamed it on Crane, implied he doesn’t know how to drive, he’s taken all the fault off of himself and neatly made Crane to blame for the untold damage done to his body. A body that may never wake up.

 

Holding back tears, Lewis drops into the empty chair next to Crane’s bedside, reaching out for his lover’s hand. It takes him a moment to think of what to say – if he should say anything, if Crane can even hear him, or if he’s just making an ass out of himself.

 

“Hi. It’s me. I haven’t left.” He finally manages, grasping Crane’s limp hand firmly in both of his own. “I’m still here. I haven’t stopped loving you. I’m keeping my word, right? But that means you have… you have to keep yours too. You have to be okay. You promised not to die and I trust you, okay, Crane? I trust you. I love you.” His voice cracks and he takes one hand away to wipe at his eyes, brusquely. All he wants to do is stay, climb into the narrow hospital bed and curl around his lover until he opens those brilliant green eyes again. But visiting hours for non-family members are limited, and he’s terrified of arousing suspicion. So after a long moment of holding Crane’s hand, he forces himself to draw away, depositing one of the repaired compasses on the empty bedside table. If he’d been smart he would have brought flowers, or a card, or something, but the battered, barely presentable bronze compass is the best he can do. He hopes if – when – Crane wakes up, he’ll understand.

 

After taking a few moments to return himself to normal, Lewis manages to even out his breathing and returns to his coworkers, trying to hide how badly he’s shaking.

 

He’s enveloped in hugs again while a couple curious workers peek inside to see what Lewis’ boyfriend looks like, some of them grimacing at his injuries, some of them at the surprise of his species. But none of them say anything, they all just leave quietly as a group.

 


	41. Chapter 41

Work is a little bit easier after that. They can’t organize another trip, but it’s enough just to have seen him once, to know what condition he’s in. He drifts through the next few days in a haze, auto-pilot turned on into overdrive to protect him from the emotional cave-in that’s weighing on his shoulders and threatening to crush him if he gives it any attention.

 

It’s not until a few days later - six in total since Crane was admitted to the hospital - that Jules hastily calls Lewis into the back room. He looks nervous, but his anxiousness dissipates when he sees she’s beaming. “We just got a call from your boy. He’s awake, and annoyed that you have your comm turned off during work hours. I transferred the call into my office, you take all the time you need in there.”

 

“Thank you so much – ” Lewis calls back over his shoulder, already sprinting into the office, clutching the phone to his ear.

 

“Crane?” He asks, breathing heavily, face a mask of fear and relief. “It’s me. I… how are you?”

 

“I’ve been- ” Crane’s voice crackles weakly, and he has to stop right away to clear his throat, coughing and hacking loudly, followed by a low groan - all of which is muffled when Crane crushed the phone into his shoulder to try and hide his pain, but Lewis still heard it. “I’ve been better,” he finally says, his voice is rough and hoarse. “Waking up to find something stuck all the way down my throat doesn’t get any easier the more times I do it.”

 

Lewis winces at the sound of the other man’s voice – he sounds so weak, so tired. He tries to keep the sound of his relief and worry out of his own voice. “How bad is it?”

 

Crane is quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what he should say. If he should give Lewis a detailed analysis of all of his injuries, if Lewis would even be able to handle that at work, or maybe he should just gloss over the whole thing or crack a joke, but nothing feels right. He just goes with his gut and says, “Pretty bad.”

 

“Long term damage?” Lewis asks gravely, quietly. ‘Pretty bad’ doesn’t sound encouraging.

 

He has to pause for a moment then when a nurse comes in to change out his IV bag, and then lifts the phone back up to his ear. “They said if all goes well I’ll be released in ten to twelve days.”

 

Lewis waits while some business or other happens in the hospital room, muffled voices that he can’t quite make out no matter how hard he strains to hear. It doesn’t sound threatening at least – he has to admit, he’s been waiting for someone to interrupt the call, or cut it off, or… he shakes his head. It isn’t happening, so it doesn’t matter. If it does happen they’ll deal with it somehow. When Crane returns to the line he repeats his question, waiting anxiously for the response.

 

“Well,” Crane says hesitantly, his voice shaking. “I broke my arm... I needed to get a couple ribs removed completely because they were just shattered beyond repair, and...” he takes a deep, steadying breath. “Look, you have to promise not to freak out. If you freak out then I’m gonna freak out.”

 

“Telling me that isn’t exactly helping.” Lewis snaps, and then forces himself to take a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s okay. I won’t. I’ve… my tolerance for bad shit is pretty high.” He has to restrain himself from laughing, knowing Crane will take it the wrong way (and knowing Crane will pick up on the hysterical note in his laughter). He crouches in the corner of Jules’ office, bracing himself for the worst. “Please tell me.” He says, gently.

 

Crane stabilizes his voice with another deep breath and closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring with an involuntary frown, before he swallows hard and forces the words out of his mouth. “I lost a paw,” he says hoarsely. “My left paw. Ankle down. It’s... It’s gone. I woke up and it was already gone.”

 

Lewis closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, sending all his fear and anger away sharply before it has a chance to influence his voice. He’s not so quick to hide his utter horror. “Jesus christ, Crane, what’d he do to you?” He whispers, swallowing hard.

 

“You want the play by play because I’m not really sure I want to relive it,” Crane says, failing to make a joke. He breathes out shakily and looks out the window, trying to calm his breathing. “The hospital said they’ll provide me with a temporary prosthetic, but we’re going to need to go shopping for a better one for long-term. One fitted specifically to my leg- ” his voice cracks, and tears spring up hot in his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m scared Titanium is going to fire me when he finds out I’m missing a foot, he might think I won’t be able to work anymore. And by fire, I mean kill. I’m only useful to him if I can do my job.”

 

Lewis draws his knees up to his chest, wishing he could be holding Crane right now. At least holding his hand. The fear in his lover’s voice makes his heart ache. “It’ll be okay,” He says with a confidence he doesn’t feel at all. “We can figure it out.” He lets out a long shaky sigh, wiping at his eyes. “And you’re still… you’re still alive. Thank you for still being alive.”

 

“I’ll call you every night,” Crane says, unable to wipe his own tears because of the cast on his other arm. “Don’t turn your stupid comm off. Mine was destroyed so I’m going to have to call you from the hospital phone, we’ll get a new one when I get out. And... thank you for bringing the compass. I don’t know how you did it, but I was happy to see that you came. I’m sorry I missed it.”

 

“It’s fine,” Lewis says, his voice rough with relief. “It’s all fine. Just as long as you’re still here.”

 

They’re both reluctant to get off the phone, but Lewis still has to work, and Crane’s tired. After a long time, they say their goodbyes, and Lewis ends up having to clock out early so he can go home and cry.

 

It takes another week for Crane to be released, during which Lewis’s coworkers manage to stage one more group trip to the hospital, waiting tactfully out in the hall while he and Crane hold each other like they’re afraid the other will disappear. It’s a difficult week for Lewis – he’s sure Crane has it worse, in the hospital, in pain, but still, he misses his lover desperately when he’s awake, and has nightmares when he’s asleep.

 

Finally he gets the call from Crane – he’s heading home in a taxi. Lewis waits anxiously at the door of the apartment, listening for the rumble of the elevator. He hears Crane before he sees him. There’s a slow, rhythmic thumping as he takes a few steps to the doors from where he’d been leaning on the back bar, and as soon as they open, Lewis sees why.

 

The hospital has fitted him with what they had available. Unsurprisingly, it’s a prosthetic shaped like a human foot. His gait is awkward and limping and unsteady, his tail whipping around to try and keep his balance; he’s unused to having a flat foot. The prosthetic is very low quality, a black cup padded with cotton to make it fit his leg and haphazardly held on with velcro straps leads down a hollow tin tube to a plastic foot-ish shaped featureless beige block. He has a crutch under his arm, luckily it’s the opposite arm that is broken so he can lean on the crutch on the left side to help him walk.

 

“I need to get a new foot pronto because this thing is a nightmare. It’s like walking with an entire tree branch stuck to my leg,” he says as soon as he sees Lewis. The bandage is off his head and his ear that had been hidden by it is badly bruised, with a line of stitches holding it together. Lewis can see bandages wrapped tightly around his entire torso, masked only barely by the flimsy cotton clothes the hospital had provided for him. He certainly _looks_ like he was in a car accident.

 

“Wow. They really cheaped out on you,” Lewis laughs halfheartedly, meeting Crane to hug him carefully, doing his best to avoid the bandages. Crane looks so torn apart and exhausted, leaning on his crutch unsteadily. “I can make a home cooked meal for you or you can sleep, or… whatever you want.” He rests his forehead against Crane’s, closing his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

 

“Food would be great, I’ve had nothing but hospital crap for days. And I’m sick of lying down, I’ve been doing nothing but lying down for over a week now,” Crane saying, looking longingly in the direction of his kitchen table until Lewis gets the hint and helps him hobble over. He sits down with a sigh and hangs his head in his hands, trying to calm his swirling head. He speaks without lifting his head. “So... this morning I called Titanium. To let him know I’m awake, and... I asked for a vacation. A real one, this time. He agreed, and gave me three whole weeks- without pay, of course- but it’ll be good for me to... figure out how to walk again.” His words go a little weak at the end. He still feels throbbing in the paw he doesn’t have anymore, he wonders how long that will last.

 

Lifting his head, he scrubs gently at his face, careful not to aggravate his many bruises. “I’ve got to have a new foot and be able to walk and run and climb and do whatever I could do with my real paw before I go back. I have to prove to him that I can still do my job, or... or it could go really, spectacularly bad for me.”

 

“You will,” Lewis says, heading into the kitchen. “I’ve been saving for a while, if you need money for a prosthetic, and…” He’s not sure how to deal with this. He’s never seen Crane look this tired. It’s not like he can’t see why – it seems like the situation keeps stretching on and on, like they’ll never get any room to breathe. And missing a foot…. “It’ll be okay,” He repeats himself, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as hollow as he thinks it does.

 

“I don’t need the money you’ve been earning, I’ll pull out of my own stash,” Crane says wearily, scratching at the uncomfortable stitches in his ear. “But I need to get one asap because there’s no point to learning how to walk on this thing if I’m just going to get a new foot- fuck. I’m missing a foot,” he says in a thick voice, as though it’s just hit him, and he drops his head back into his hands. “I’m just going to keep losing parts until there’s more fake bits than there is of me.”

 

Lewis sets down the fish he’s taking out of the fridge and strides back to Crane, taking both his paws in his hands. Up close, the stitches around Crane’s ear are so ugly and painful looking, black thread standing out sharply against white skin and dried blood and bruising. Lewis tries not to think what Crane’s foot must have looked like – what it must have felt like to be beaten that badly. The effects are worse than anything he’s ever seen with Cynda. Titanium, or whoever he employed to give Crane his beatings (Lewis’s fists clenched at the thought, relaxed very slowly) was a professional.

 

“I’ll still love you the same,” He says. He’s not sure that’s exactly the problem, but that’s all he can give. “You’re… you’re still you. And we can get you out of this, so you won’t ever get hurt like this again… you’re close, right? We’re close. And I’m with you til the end, no matter how it ends.” He ducks his head, a little embarrassed of his outburst.

 

Crane gives a sad, tired smile. “Get down here and kiss me, I’m too tired to lean up,” he says. The feeling of Lewis’ lips on his own, even though it stings slightly, is heaven.

 

He shooes Lewis back to cooking and uses Lewis’ comm to first, order himself a new comm through the company he has a plan with, and then start to browse for any places nearby he could get a professional fitting for a prosthetic foot. One phone call later and he has an appointment set up for two days from now in the next city over.

 

“They’ll fit me, and then probably have it done in the next few days. By then I’ll still have probably two and a half weeks... I know you’ve taken a lot of time off work for the other dumb stupid thing that led to this whole mess, but do you think they’d let you go for a real vacation? One where neither of our lives are in danger and there are no shady business deals and nobody is getting hurt?”

 

Setting a decently seasoned, pan-fried portion of trout in front of Crane and a plate of vegetables and rice in front of himself, Lewis drops into the chair across from him.

 

“I can probably take the time off. I mean, I don’t want to lose the money but it’s worth it. And I know my boss will let me. She… at some point, remind me to tell you how good she’s been.” He gives Crane an embarrassed smile, scooting in his chair. “But yeah. A real vacation sounds like heaven.”

 

“Lets get off this rotten planet then,” Crane says with a huff of a laugh. “The instant I have my new paw strapped to my leg, lets peel out of here and go someplace else. Anywhere else. Somewhere with a beach. I’d love to spend a vacation at a beach.”

 

He’s impatient, waiting for the appointment. Lewis drives him there and they take a cast of Crane’s “stump” for lack of a better term. Crane asks them if he’ll ever stop feeling his paw itch and throb, and they promise him that eventually the phantom sensations will die away as he gets used to living life without a paw. They show him a rough sketch of what his new paw will look like- a sleek black and silver curved design called a “blade” that isn’t too far from the anatomy of his paws to begin with.

 

It has a sturdy no-slip bottom and a comfortable socket for him to slip his ankle into, as well as a few sturdy straps to hold it in place. It’s not the most inconspicuous design in the world, but they promise him it’s all-terrain, he’ll be able to take it on wood, concrete, dirt, metal, tile, anything. They tell him exactly how to keep the incisions in the base of his ankle clean and free of infection, and Lewis promises to take very good care of him.

 

Over the next several days, after two follow-up fitting processes while they mold and tweak his foot, Lewis spends a lot of time researching how to help new amputees on video sharing websites, and massages Crane’s ankle until the pressure becomes too much for him several times a day, helping him acclimate to the sensations of his “residual limb” they called it. It gets easier for Crane to talk about missing his foot the more they discuss it, and it even feels normal in a matter of a couple days with Lewis’ help, like he never even had that paw to begin with.

 

When his new paw comes in the mail, Crane is ecstatic. He mails the temporary prosthetic the hospital had given him back for them to use for someone else, and slips his new foot onto his ankle. Of course, it fits like a glove, and he tries to take a lap around the apartment, but he’s as wobbly and unsteady on his feet as a newborn deer. His ankle is still tender - it still has the suture in after all - and he can’t put too much weight on it yet without pain. Lewis promises they’ll carve out a decent chunk of time teaching him how to walk as soon as they settle down wherever they’re going to vacation.

 

They pick a planet that’s only a five-hour drive away, a sunny pleasure planet solely for the purpose of vacationing, tropical and mild and pleasant. They pack a suitcase each, along with all the things for Crane’s new foot - the antibacterial soap, his sleeves, all the padding and gauze and hydrogen peroxide he could possibly need - and they’re loaded up in the cruiser and ready to go by noon the next day.

 

They’d rented a small bungalow type house – they hadn’t been able to afford beachfront, but it’s close, and they figure the walking will be good practice for Crane. Plus, the shower has hand bars built into the walls, and when Crane called to reserve the cabin, the staff was very good about disability accommodations. Crane explains to Lewis that the planet’s often used for convalescence, so most businesses tend to be good about handicap accessibility.

 

When they arrive at the port, Lewis is extremely pleased to find that it’s the exact opposite of Vitessence – bright, open, and blissfully casual. As soon as they open the cruiser door, he can smell the ocean. And then he’s quickly aware of something they didn’t think about beforehand, as Crane maneuvers himself carefully onto the sand and immediately winces and grabs at the frame of the cruiser.

 

“The sand’s not going to be easy to walk on, is it,” Lewis says, heart sinking. The prosthetist had told them even, stable surfaces would be easiest for Crane to begin with, and sand is… probably the exact opposite of that.

 

Crane frowns at the walk from the cruiser to their cabin. He’s filled with a wave of regret and anger and disappointment in himself, and sits in the side of the cruiser, hanging his head for a few moments in his hands so he can just breathe. Maybe he should start seeing a therapist, he thinks. The walk can’t be any more than 10 feet, a journey of a few seconds for somebody with two feet. He kicks the sand with his organic foot, chuffing in frustration.

 

Of all the things he’s angry about, he’s mostly angry at himself. He’s furious with himself for taking for granted his ability to walk _again_. His tail clunks loudly, metallically behind himself to remind him of what he’s already been through once.

 

He takes a deep breath and stands. He’s wobbly, and puts all of his weight on his organic foot, wiggling his toes around in the sand until he finds a good base to take one lurching, limping step forward. Pain spikes up his left leg the split-second he has to put any weight on it, but he quickly catches his stumble on his right paw. His pride is almost as dangerous as the metal cable whipping around behind him to help him keep his balance.

 

Three steps is agony. He’s exhausted, and barely any closer to the hut. Covering his face with both hands, his ears flattening back, he tries to calm himself with deep breathing, but it doesn’t last long. His breathing goes shallower and quicker, but he squeezes his eyes shut too tightly for tears. He won’t cry about this, he won’t. He’ll return to Titanium, steady on his feet, with his head held high. He doesn’t have a choice.

 

It kills him watching Crane’s slow progression, but Lewis doesn’t say anything. He hangs back, heart beating heavily, tensing every time Crane stumbles. Even though he’s aching to steady him, he’s scared it’ll be taken as an insult, as a sign Crane isn’t good enough. Instead he just watches, ready to jump forward the instant he’s needed. He can’t think of anything else to do – what, is he going to start bringing things into the cabin, flaunting how easily he can move on his two good feet?

 

Something has to be done though – a boardwalk, or something, so Crane doesn’t have to do this every single time he wants to leave their place. If for no other reason than Lewis isn’t going to be able to watch him take these slow, painful steps over and over. Lewis slowly closes the cruiser door, eyes locked on Crane’s back.

 

Crane takes a shuddering breath and lowers his hands. Steeling his expression, he takes another step, and another. Every step he takes is a small victory, a triumph over his own shortcomings. Every step he takes is a laugh in the face of Titanium, a middle finger to his parents, a slap in the face to his sister. Every inch he leaves behind him is another thing he doesn’t have to look back on with shame.

 

But for all his pride, he’s still wounded and limited by his body. After only ten steps - less than half of the distance between the cruiser and the cabin, the pain stumbles him and he collapses in the sand, landing hard on his tailbone. When he hears Lewis lurch to life behind him he throws his hand back behind him before his lover can take more than a single step.

 

Breath shaking, he slaps the sand and sends a handful flying, panting both in exhaustion and withheld tears. He cries out in frustration and pins his ears to his head with furiously balled fists. “I have to get this,” he says, his voice loud and trembling. “I _have to_ get this!”

 

Lewis steps back for a moment, scared of fucking up, making Crane feel even worse, and then thinks to himself, _This isn’t going to work._ He slowly, carefully walks up to where Crane’s sitting, hands on his head, prosthetic digging into the sand.

 

“You got your stitches out three days ago,” Lewis says quietly, haltingly. “Your leg is still really fucked up. I know you need to be better but if you keep pushing yourself this hard you’ll hurt yourself worse.” He lays a hesitant hand on Crane’s tense shoulder. “We have time, okay? Just… remember we’ve got some time.”

 

Crane forces himself to take slow, even breaths, forcing his tears of frustration and anger down. He nods slowly and lowers his hands, dropping them into his lap. “Can you... carry me inside?” he asks weakly. He would have just asked for some support hobbling inside, but his reckless ambition has pain stabbing up through his ankle. He’s always been comfortable relying on Lewis for emotional support, he can’t start shunning his help now.

 

“Yeah, of course, no problem.” Lewis says, kneeling immediately to gather Crane into his arms. He’s always surprised by his lover’s slight weight when he picks him up, even with the heavy metal of his tail and his new prosthetic leg to balance him. Turning, he carefully heads towards their cabin. Crane was halfway there. That’s pretty good for now, especially on sand. “You’re gonna have to open the door for me though or I’m going to eat shit.”

 

Crane gives a humorless laugh and reaches down to open the door, nudging it open farther with his organic paw so Lewis can carry him inside and set him down on the edge of the big cozy bed. Crane slips his prosthetic off to give his ankle room to breathe and rubs gently at the still-raw suture. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard. Maybe Lewis is right, and it’s okay to take it easy for a little while.

 

But at the same time, he worries that if he takes it too easy, he won’t be back on his paws by the time he has to return to Titanium. They’re already one week down, he only has fourteen days to relearn how to walk. Most people who lose a foot have months and months to recover, but he doesn’t have that luxury. He has to get walking no matter how much it hurts or how hard it is. He drops his face back into his hands helplessly.

 

The defeated posture Crane sinks into makes Lewis wince. For all he tries to reassure him, he honestly doesn’t know how much time they actually have. Titanium… isn’t exactly the most forgiving of employers.

 

“I… I’m gonna get the stuff from the car.” Lewis mutters, giving his lover an ineffective squeeze on the shoulder. “It’s okay. You can just rest. We have time.” He’s not sure who exactly he’s trying to convince here, but either way, he figures the best thing he can do right now is be useful and not hover.

 

It takes him several trips to bring in their suitcases and assorted beach stuff that now seems hopelessly optimistic. By the time Lewis kicks the cabin door shut behind him for the final time, tossing the keys on the kitchen counter, Crane is already strapping his prosthetic back on, grimacing.

 

“Are you sure that’s – ” Lewis cuts himself off. “Look, just be careful with yourself, okay?”

 

“I just want to be able to walk around the cabin,” he mutters, staring disdainfully at the crutches he’d been provided with that Lewis leaned up against a wall. “I refuse to be bedridden no matter how much my stupid... no matter how much it hurts. Lets just stay indoors tonight, it’s already almost dinner time anyway.”

 

Lewis doesn’t want to argue Crane for anything at this point. He spends his evening watching Crane take painstaking steps around the cabin, lunging for things to support him when his injured ankle gives out on him and cursing every single time at his own weakness.

 

The third time he falls, Lewis can’t take it anymore. Crane’s muscles are shaking with exhaustion, but he’s still trying to get himself back up to keep going, so Lewis pushes him back down to the ground and sits on the wood floor beside him. Crane gives a tearless sob of frustration and hangs his head in shame.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m scared. I’m really scared.”

 

“I know. I am too.” Lewis admits, wrapping his arm around Crane’s neck, pulling him in close. “I don’t… I don’t know if it he’s giving you enough time to get better. But if you keep trying so hard you break yourself that doesn’t help, right?” He rests his chin on the top of Crane’s head, staring out at the beautiful dunes outside their sliding glass doors. More than anything he just wishes this were easy – that he could watch Crane bound like an overexcited little kid over the sand again.

 

“He doesn’t know,” Crane says shakily. “I didn’t tell him. When I called him, I didn’t mention it. I was afraid he’d fire me right away if he thought there was a chance I’d never be able to work again. So now I’ve forced myself into this tiny window and if I don’t get better by then... I don’t know. Or, I don’t want to think about it.”

 

“He doesn’t know you _lost your foot?_ Even though he’s the reason – ” Lewis stops himself, forcing his hands to relax. Not helpful, asshole.

 

“Okay. So… so there’s probably no way he’d be sympathetic if you…” Crane cuts Lewis off with a pained, sardonic laugh, which is all the answer Lewis needs. He’s forced to grin himself, even though there’s no humor in it. “So that’s not an option. But you… you’re already doing so much. I wouldn’t have made it three steps earlier, on the beach, if that was me.” He hopes to god it doesn’t sound condescending – it’s true. Crane’s always been that much more determined than he is. He reaches his hand up to gently stroke behind Crane’s ears. “But you have to give yourself a break, right?”

 

“I’ve already _got_ a break,” Crane waves his casted right arm and gestures to where he still wears a compression vest to keep his healing ribs from shifting around too much. “More than one. I can’t take any more breaks. It’s a matter of life or death. Last time I lost a body part I had months to recover, but this time I’ve got days, and I’m scared to death. I’m afraid if I push myself too hard I’ll hurt myself worse and all my trying will have been for nothing, and I’m afraid if I don’t push myself hard enough, I’ll fail where I would have succeeded if I just pushed myself harder. And I know that whichever I choose, the other one will have been the right thing to do.”

 

“Sorry,” Lewis mutters, going red and looking down. “I didn’t mean… you know I didn’t mean it that way.”

 

There’s a long, awkward silence between them, both of them knowing there’s really not any way to improve the situation. Then Lewis asks quietly, “How’d you do it last time? With your tail?”

 

Crane’s tail thumps loudly behind him. It’s always so heavy and loud and embarrassing. “I didn’t,” he admits softly. “I was tail-less for almost five months and even though I tried walking every day, I never could get the hang of it, no matter how hard I tried. I tried begging my parents for the money to get a prosthetic, it was the first time I’d contacted them since I left, but they said I wasn’t in the family anymore.”

 

He draws his knees up, wincing at the pain in his ribs, and yanks his foot off. His sutures are bleeding, and he curses quietly, grabbing the edge of the carpet to dab at the blood. His eyes are watering again, but he doesn’t acknowledge them, and sniffles loudly. “I was getting desperate, so I robbed a store and stole $25,000 to pay for the tail I’ve got now. Three guesses who that money belonged to.”

 

Scrubbing miserably at the tears in his eyes, Crane scowls out the glass doors at the sand. It’s usually a sight he’d welcome, but right now it just looks like a plane of impossibility. “After the tail was implanted, it took me another six months on the run to fully get back on my paws, but Titanium caught up to me. I thought he was going to remove my tail to take his money back, but... I just got a job offer. And it was better than the prison he was threatening me with otherwise.”

 

“Fuck, here, don’t use the damn rug – ” Lewis stands, grabbing a towel off the kitchen counter and handing it down to Crane to use on his stump. He kneels down next to him again, taking his hand carefully, running his thumb over Crane’s fuzzy fingers.

 

“I’m sorry,” He says quietly, unsure if Crane even wants his arms around him. “I know this isn’t the problem or even remotely helpful but I still love you, I’m still with you. No matter what.” He gives Crane a hopeless smile. “Don’t suppose you could go on the run again, huh?”

 

Crane scoffs. “Yeah, right,” he mutters. “I’d have to be on the run literally for the rest of my life, or until he caught me- and if he caught me, he’d kill me, so technically that’s still the rest of my life, for however long it would last.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Lewis mumbles, before realizing what a shitty thing that is to say in this moment.

 

“Look, I mean…” He closes his eyes, tightening his fingers around Crane’s hand. “I’m so fucking sorry. You never deserved this. You’re the last person in the world to deserve this. And I can’t think of any way to make it better, and you deserve better than that too. But you… remember when you told me you could pick your fights? I mean, I guess this isn’t one you got to pick. But you can still do that. Just. I guess, in smaller ways…”

 

He trails off, shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m being stupid. I just, whatever makes it easier for you to be okay, I’ll do it.”

 

Crane sighs and scratches at his wrist under the rim of his cast. “I just wish I’d stop losing body parts to horrible men. I’d like to be able to keep a few.”

 

“How d’you mean?” Lewis asks, giving him a nervous look. He already knows this is a question he’s going to regret asking, but at the same time, who knows, it might help in some tiny useless way. Or make things worse. Either way, too late now.

 

Crane sighs and looks at the lifeless cable curled around his paws. Paw. Fuck.

 

He figured Lewis would need to know this story sooner or later. He looks back at the bed a few feet away and nudges his head towards it in a silent request for Lewis to help him there. The younger man helps him up and he hobbles on one foot over to the edge. He waits for Lewis to hesitantly sit beside him before taking a deep breath.

 

“So... I told you how I was a pirate for a while when I was a kid,” he starts, unsteadily. “For a few years. I was young and reckless and... I was deeply in love with my captain, Ulysses. I would have done anything for him- and I did. I got started in tattoos because of him, I pierced my ears because of him, I got the shit kicked out of me on more than one occasion because he would use me as bait, and I’d go willingly, because I thought he’d love me back if he saw how much shit I could take. I was blinded by what I thought was love, but it was really just a toxic combination of lust and adoration. He didn’t respect me, I don’t think he ever even liked me.”

 

Lewis can’t see this ending anywhere well, especially given the context, but he’s committed now. He reaches over and gently takes hold of Crane’s hand again, nodding.

 

Crane takes a deep, stabilizing breath. “One time there was some maniac disgraced doctor, he was in this massive scandal a couple decades ago. He was stealing organs from patients or something, he was completely insane, and when he was found out, they couldn’t even arrest him because of how insanely rich he was - from all the organ theft. He took all of his money and bought himself a massive space yacht and floated off away from all his crimes and accusations. Ulysses had the bright idea that we would rob him.”

 

His voice trembles a little, so he pauses to clear his throat. He hasn’t had to tell this story in a very long time. “He sent me in first. Said I’d be “the distraction” which was just his sugar-coated version of bait. He said all I’d have to do is get him to see me and then follow me, and they’d be in and out in less than ten minutes.”

 

“And it didn’t happen like that,” Lewis says quietly, swallowing hard. He hates that this is this is the second time he’s had to freeze himself in place while Crane tells him a story of hurt that makes his skin crawl. He hates that this is Crane’s life – this is the way the man he loves has been treated. That anyone had dared to hurt him, and worse, multiple people, over and over again, to the point where now he’s barely clinging to his lover’s one hand because his other arm is broken and his ribs are crushed.

 

“Well... he saw me. And then he followed me. He was in his sixties, I don’t know how he could move that fast. I was scared, and then he shot me. It was the first time I’d ever been shot with a gun, and I was asphyxiating because he’d gotten me in the lung. I passed out, I thought I was dying. Then I woke up strapped down in his operating theatre. Why he had one on his ship is a pretty good testament to how fucked up he was. There were a few other people there... none of them from my crew. They told me I’d been there for hours. I’d been abandoned by Ulysses, and my first thought was that he’d been forced to run because the doctor had attacked them and he called a retreat, I was so deeply in denial that I told myself he’d come back for me once he figured out I wasn’t on the ship with him.”

 

“Wait,” Lewis shakes his head, withdrawing his hand from Crane’s quickly. He shouldn’t, but he’s suddenly so angry he can barely breathe. He doesn’t trust himself not to hurt Crane on accident. “This piece of shit left you to some fucking organ harvester?”

 

Crane doesn’t even have the energy to nod. “When I realized he wasn’t coming back for me, I changed my denial. I thought he thought I was dead, after all, I’d thought I was dying. The freak came in and told us that we were going to “help those less fortunate” and he... he cut the girl beside me open while she was awake and- well, she passed out after only a couple minutes and she never woke up again as long as I was there. He took her liver, so I assume she never made it out okay.”

 

He scrubs at his face with both hands for a few moments before dropping them back into his lap. “As soon as he left, I made my escape. I was trapped on his ship, so I was looking for a place to hide when an alarm went off, which I assume was him realizing I’d gotten away. Didn’t account for my double-joints when he strapped me down. He gave chase for almost half an hour before he pinned me down in the kitchen. Came at me with a cleaver.”

 

It takes Lewis a moment to realize that he’d assumed wrong before – he’d thought Crane’s tail had been cut off on the operating bed. He reaches out for Crane’s hand again, blindly, struck dumb by horror.

 

Crane’s breathing has gone a little tight, and he’s been staring unblinkingly at one spot on the carpet for several minutes. “There was so much blood. I could barely see because of all the flashing lights, I couldn’t walk, and he just kept coming. I wrestled the cleaver from him and... he was the first person I ever killed. Stranded and bleeding on a ship I didn’t know how to fly, I just crawled back to the theatre and released the other three people he had strapped down in there. One of them was a nurse, and she managed to stop the bleeding, but there was no reattaching it.”

 

“God, oh my fucking god, Crane…” Lewis covers his face with his right hand, trying to control his own breathing. His left hand is still clenched around Crane’s, fingers tightly intertwined. Both of them are white-knuckled, clinging to each other.

 

“I wish the story ended there,” Crane’s voice is strangled in his throat. He hasn’t had to think about this in detail for many years now, and the flood is returning. “Together the four of us figured out how to fly to the nearest planet, and I stole a cruiser right off a used car lot and tracked down Ulysses. I thought I’d come in like some hero, and he would be so sorry because he thought I was dead, and so proud of me for getting away and proud of my battle injury, and he’d take me back and ask me to be his boyfriend officially, since he’d already been using me for sex for years.”

 

Pain shoots up his right arm and he realizes how tightly he was gripping the material of his pants, and releases with trembling fingers. “I found him. I knew where they’d planned to head next, so it wasn’t hard to track them down. But... he’d already replaced me. It had been less than a week. I thought he’d see me and tell the other kid to take a hike, but he told me he’d left me there on purpose. He said I’d been dragging him down for months and it was time for “fresh meat.” He said- ”

 

His voice shakes and he closes his eyes. “He said I was useless if I couldn’t walk. And he was right.”

 

“No, no, no, he was so so fucking wrong,” Lewis says immediately, turning sideways to face Crane for the first time since he started his story. “You’ve never ever been worthless. You fucking… even if you just survived that you’d be amazing but you _saved three other people_.”

 

He reaches out to embrace his lover and pulls his hands back stupidly. He can’t. He can’t even hold Crane right now. It’s so colossally unfair, so awful. He has to settle for wiping away the tears threatening in the corners of Crane’s eyes, aching to somehow take that younger Crane into his arms and tell him he’s worth everything.

 

“It shouldn’t… none of this ever should have happened to you.” Lewis mumbles.

 

Lewis wiping the tears away only makes more spring up and then roll down his cheeks. “I begged him to give me some money at least so I could get a new tail, and he gave me this gorgeous gold necklace with rubies and diamonds and told me it was worth a few thousand at least,” he wipes at his tears, his lower lip trembling. “So I took it to a pawn shop, still in denial, I was certain he’d given me the necklace as a token of his love, and he’d just said those things to hurt me and chase me away because he cared about me and he didn’t want me to get hurt again. But then the man at the pawn shop told me the necklace was fake costume jewelry and wasn’t even worth twenty bucks. And I was sad and angry and scared and I robbed him.”

 

“He deserved worse,” Lewis says angrily, gritting his teeth. He’s furious that anyone could be this cruel to Crane, and worse, this is the second time he’s watched his lover cry about the abuses visited on him. He strokes behind Crane’s ears, fingers trembling. Now the story’s joined up again, but he’s still listening, waiting for Crane to get it all out, every horrible detail he wants to tell.

 

Crane steeples his fingers over his nose, closing his eyes and taking several forced deep breaths. “If I learned one thing from Ulysses, it’s to never spend money you steal right away, so when I robbed the man, I just fled,” he’s not sure why he’s still talking at this point. Maybe it’s because he trusts Lewis so implicitly, maybe it’s because he’s just never told this story to anybody before. “I kept it with me and over the weeks I started to feel worse and worse about robbing that guy. I told myself that I’d learn to walk again without my tail and then go back and return the money, but after months of dizzying agony, I couldn’t take it anymore. I failed, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t learn how to walk again. I couldn’t even figure it out when I got my tail back, I had to adjust to how it moved and how heavy it was, I spent almost a whole year unable to walk. And now I’m supposed to figure it out again in two weeks.”

 

It takes Lewis a long time to figure out what to say, running his hand down Crane’s spine in the only comforting gesture he can give. Finally he takes a deep breath and speaks quietly, almost inaudibly.

 

“You didn’t fail. You saved yourself. By yourself. You’re… you’re really incredible. And I mean, right now you’re not alone – you’ve got a doctor at least, and... and me… even if I’m not much good… but I know you can hang on and get better, I know you. You’re so damn smart about knowing when to push and when not to.”

 

Crane wishes he could flop over sideways onto Lewis’ lap, but the damage to his ribs doesn’t allow it. So he just gently rests his forehead on Lewis’ shoulder, breathing in his comforting scent.

 

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says quietly. “Thank you. For being brave for me. I know I don’t say it enough, and I’m sorry, but... I love you.”

 

“It’s fine. God, it’s more than fine. I love you too. And you’re still here too. You…” Lewis bends over to kiss Crane on the top of the head, wishing with all his heart he could embrace him.

 

“You’re worth everything to me. You’re worth more than the goddamn universe. And you always will be. No matter what.” He says quietly, stroking gently down Crane’s back.

 

He’s relieved that Crane lets himself rest while he’s making dinner – even more relieved to see that Crane eats a decent portion of food, despite wincing when he shifts wrong in his chair. After dinner Crane makes another few attempts at walking, slowly, painfully, but at least this time he uses the crutches to assist himself. He still stumbles, but it’s clear to Lewis that he’s making some sort of progress in maneuvering himself. It’s just that neither of them can tell if the progress is being made quick enough.

 

Finally, Crane calls it a night, taking off his prosthetic and sock, massaging the feeling back into the stump of his leg on the side of the bed. Lewis settles back against the pillows with a paperback thriller after the older man tells him he’d rather take care of his leg himself.

 

With the antibacterial lotion rubbed into his sore skin thoroughly, Crane turns to look over at Lewis in the low lamplight. He smiles softly, watching his crystal blue eyes flick back and forth as he scans the pages of the gas station novel. He watches the micro-expressions in his eyes and mouth as he reacts to what he’s reading, the excitement and dread and interest. Sometimes he’ll watch Lewis and wonder how he’s been so incredibly blessed. Usually Lewis will notice him watching and look up and his cheeks will go charmingly pink when he realizes Crane has been doing that thing where he stares at Lewis and loves him.

 

But Lewis is so engrossed in his book that he doesn’t look up. At first it’s cute, he’s never witnessed anybody so interested in a book. But then it’s annoying. He’s being cute too and Lewis isn’t paying attention. “Lewis,” he whispers, but the young man is so absorbed in his book that he doesn’t even hear him.

 

Frowning, Crane crawls up the length of the bed. Lewis doesn’t even stop reading to look, probably assuming he’s crawling up to get under the covers. Crane gives a meow and ducks down to shove his nose under Lewis’ book, and thrusts his head under the pages until Lewis raises it enough that he can lower himself over Lewis’ chest.

 

Face pushed under Lewis’ jaw, tail thumping back and forth behind him on the bed spread, the book officially lowered over Crane’s back, he smiles. Mission accomplished.

 

“Hi,” Lewis says, grinning down at Crane as he lays his book face down on his lover’s back, breaking the binding slightly. “Sorry, was I not paying enough attention to you?”

 

Crane gives another meow in lieu of answering and nudges his cold nose under Lewis’ chin and smears it down the length of his jaw. His chest starts to rumble with purring, and he licks across his lover’s ear twice before rolling over just enough to shove his nose up Lewis’ nostril.

 

“aaAAGH what the hell!” Lewis laughs, jerking his head away. “God, I forgot what a fucking cat you are.” He can’t stop grinning. He’s missed this so much. Twitching the blanket aside, he leans down to kiss Crane on the side of the mouth. “Here, you idiot, get under the covers with me.”

 

“I’m offended by that,” Crane laughs, wiggling so he can get under the covers. “Next time you chew something I’m going to say how much it reminds me that you’re a sheep.”

 

“Chewing things is normal, old man.” Says Lewis, wrapping his arm gently around Crane’s shoulders and shifting over.

 

“I don’t chew. Strike two,” Crane grins.

 

“You’re _supposed to_ chew your food. Shoving your nose up my nose, though, is a weird fucking move.” He’s still smiling ear to ear, feeling the low rumble of Crane’s purring against his chest. It’s the first time in ages things have been normal between them, and it feels like heaven. It feels like the first time Crane groomed his hair, ages ago in their bed in their apartment. It feels like home.

 

Blinking away the tears of happiness that are springing into his eyes, Lewis gives Crane another kiss, and picks up his book again. “D’you mind if I read some more? Or do you want to sleep?”

 

“Read to me,” Crane says, nuzzling up to Lewis’ side and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Immerse me in your story. I want to feel it. Make me feel things!”

 

“I mean, I’m like two thirds into it, you won’t know what the hell’s going on,” Lewis says, and Crane stops him with a mew of protest. Rolling his eyes, he leans his head against Crane’s and raises the book up to eye level, reading in a clear, even voice.

 

 

 

 _“Suddenly nervous, Jeremy glanced around again, noting the sun sinking beside him and the way the tree’s shadows were starting to uncomfortably resemble claws. As if his nerves were feeding hers, Sally gave a high pitched yelping bark, staring at the building with her hackles raised._  
  
_“Mr. Greene?” Jeremy called, trying to keep his voice calm. To his immense relief, Greene emerged immediately from the structure and headed straight back, taking the leash from Jeremy’s cold hands and giving him his cell phone back._

_“Hey, girl, what’s gotten into you?” Greene asked his dog, his voice much gentler than Jeremy had heard before. Sally barely reacted to her master’s return, still shivering and whining._

_“What happened?” Greene turned to Jeremy, his usual harsh tone returning. Jeremy shook his head._

_“I have no idea, she started freaking out as soon as you went in. Did you find anything?”_

_“Most of it’s collapsed. There’s two rooms and I could only get into one – looks like the roof fell in on the other one. Looks like someone was living in it a long time ago – I found some empty cans and a busted old camp stove. I’ll have to bring Sally back, don’t think she can manage a scent right now.” Greene reached down and gently patted his dog. “Come on, girl, it’s okay.”_

_“Do you know why she’s doing that?” Jeremy asked nervously. The monster in the woods flashed across his mind, but it was one of many options now – it could be a crazed murderer, or a bear. Well, there weren’t any bears in Illinois. As far as he knew._

_“Folks have been saying there’s cougars around for the past few years…” Greene mused. Great. Jeremy hadn’t even thought of cougars. “Either way, she’s spooked and I better get her back to the house.”_

_As they headed away, another thought struck Jeremy, and he turned back to snap a picture of the building with his cell phone. In the growing dusk, it took on a looming quality, misshapen and ominous. Jeremy jammed his phone back into his pocket and hurried to catch up with Greene.”_

 

 

 

Lewis looks up at the paragraph break, glancing back at Crane. The older man has fallen asleep still propped against his chest, still slightly purring in his sleep. Lewis smiles deeply, setting the book aside and turning out the bedside lamp. He settles them both carefully in the bed, taking extra caution not to touch Crane’s injuries. But as he pulls the covers up around himself, he’s still marveling at the fact that he’s able to touch Crane again, that even though he has to hold him very gently, he still gets to fall asleep with his lover in his arms.

 


	42. Chapter 42

The water is hot on Lewis’ skin, comforting and warm. The spray is light on his body; there’s almost no pressure at all as it bounces off and rolls down his arms and chest. This shower is small, but he loves this small shower, in this small bathroom, in their small apartment.

 

Outside in the apartment beyond, he hears a loud clunk over the hiss of the water. He slides open the shower door and sticks his head out and calls, “Crane?”

 

He gets no response. Crane must not have heard him. He probably knocked over a chair or something. He stands under the spray for a few more moments before he’s in front of the bathroom door, and he pushes it open with a squeak.

 

The apartment is pitch black past the door. The light from the bathroom does not cast into the room. Even the windows that always give off light from the signs outside have gone dark. There’s a white flash of lightning followed by a roll of thunder that comes from inside the apartment itself, and Lewis sees Crane standing in the middle of the wide open room.

 

He opens his mouth to call out Crane’s name, but his voice doesn’t work. He lifts his foot to take a step towards him, but his legs don’t draw him forward no matter how many steps he takes. There’s another flash of light, and he sees _Yasu_.

 

Lewis throws his hands up, yelling for Crane, yelling at the top of his lungs, but he can’t make a sound. A light flashes on overhead, shining down a single beam of light over Crane. Lying on the wooden slats in a pool of blood, emerald eyes open and unseeing, his body littered with stab wounds.

 

He’s shouting and trying to get to Crane’s body but his feet are still caught in place. There’s another low rumble of thunder as Yasu steps into the light, crouching next to the body on the ground. Lewis is choking, whispering “No, no, no” as he forces himself forward. He’s moving so slowly, tears streaming down his face, stinging in the scratches on his cheek– the cuts where Crane clawed him are open again – he’s still so far away as Yasu looks up at him, smiling that sweet, genuine, confident smile that sends chills of fear down his spine.

 

“Hello again, Lewis,” Yasu says cordially, and pulls the knife from Crane’s belly. The cat doesn’t even flinch, he just stares blankly ahead into the darkness. Lewis can’t move any part of his body as the man pulls a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his blazer and stands, wiping away the blood from the knife.

 

He spins the knife between his fingers, and takes a step over Crane’s lifeless body, towards where Lewis remains paralyzed in the dark. “Do you remember me? It’s been a few weeks.”

 

Standing in the light, Lewis watches as the whites of Yasu’s eyes slowly bleed red. “You should have checked my pulse when you beat me to death on my own floor,” he growls. Lacerations open up across his face and his nose caves in; his lips split and blood runs down his chest, soaking into his white shirt and dripping onto the floor, joining the puddle under the dead, staring Crane. “You know what they say. The people you don’t kill come back for revenge.”

 

He stands there as Lewis remembers him, as he left him on his floor, possibly to be found, possibly to rot until the neighbors complain about the smell. He still stands, barely resembling a person, teeth broken and eyes swinging and red. In a gargling voice he laughs, “I killed Crane.”

 

“Don’t,” Lewis says in a tiny voice, stumbling backwards, and closing his eyes. “Please, please don’t.” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking – don’t have killed Crane? Don’t be dead? Don’t be here at all?

 

He can still see, even though his eyes are closed. He can’t wake up but he can’t stop seeing the living corpse in front of him, the bloody body Yasu became. Because of him. He lets out a strangled sob and falls to his knees.

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up. The body has changed. With a shout, he falls backwards, staring up at the terrifying, brutal picture of a man he hasn’t seen in a very long time. He shoves back, away from the broken knuckles of his sister’s father, Jared Moore.

 

“No warm welcome Lewis?” half of Moore’s face is caved in, his mouth a flapping and bleeding hole. It flecks Lewis’ face as Jared follows him into the darkness, scrambling backwards like a crab, but he’s not getting any farther away from Crane and Jared isn’t getting any closer to him no matter how quickly he matches pace.

 

“Did you think that slanty-eyed boy took my place?” Moore hisses, advancing on Lewis with bloodied fingers outstretched to grab and hurt. “Think you only got one slot for beatin’ a man to death?! You got two bodies on your hands, boy!”

 

“No!” Lewis throws his hands up to shield his eyes as Moore’s hands come down for him. But they don’t touch him. Shakily, he lowers them and sees Moore leaned out over Crane’s body. He’s holding the knife, the one Yasu had, and he stabs it back into Crane’s lifeless chest.

 

Whirling, he shouts “There’s no forgiving murder, and there’s no getting rid of me no matter how many people you kill! I’ve come back to settle the score- _I_ killed Crane!”

 

“Stop – ” Lewis cries, covering his face, edging backwards. “You’re dead, you’re fucking dead, stop, please stop…”

 

He feels his ribs aching, the blinding pain at the back of his head where Moore’s fists slammed into the base of his neck so long ago. His broken wrist, his broken fingers, the contusions on his back and sides, they all bloom into the same agony he felt when he’d finally limped away from Cynda’s father’s body almost two years ago. But now he can’t leave. He’s trapped by his own nightmare, unable to even wince away from the second dead man to stab his lover’s body.

 

Ducking his head, he wills him to disappear, clutching his head in misery. He hears a tapping, like water dripping in his ears. It’s getting closer, and he looks up as he recognizes the sound as high heels clicking on wood. Titanium is approaching Crane’s body, walking towards him.

 

Lewis tries to open his mouth and scream, tell him to get away from his lover, he doesn’t have the right to go near him, but his voice is crippled with fear. He hasn’t seen this man’s face in months, and his stupid smirk burns a hole in his chest. He steps over Crane’s body, his floor-length fur coat dragging over his corpse and through the blood pooled beneath him, streaking the floor like a grisly paint brush.

 

He has the knife in his hand, and he’s spinning it on his fingertip, balanced by the point. “You can’t save him,” he says, his honey-sweet voice digging fingernails into Lewis’ guts. “He’s dead. He died a looong time ago.”

 

Lewis blinks, and Titanium is gone. Lewis is left kneeling there, staring forward at Crane’s body before long, fur-draped arms circle around Lewis’ shoulders, holding that damn knife. Titanium’s lips close in on his ear and he whispers icily, “He died when he met you, Lewis.”

 

Everything goes deathly quiet. Too quiet for Lewis to even hear his own breathing or the saliva in his mouth, so quiet his ears don’t even ring, and then Titanium whispers, “ _ **You** killed Crane_.”

 

Lewis is leaning over Crane’s body, holding the knife, drenched with blood up to his elbows, down his chest, it’s soaked into his hair and jeans and Crane is gurgling beneath him, clutching his wrists as he chokes on his blood for a few horrible seconds before his hands fall and his eyes glass over.

 

“Fuck no oh fuck _oh god_ -” Lewis jerks his head up, finally, pitifully grateful to awake finally, before he hits the hardwood floor of the cabin. He’s apparently backpedaled his way off the bed to land hard on the floor.

 

Clutching at the back his head, Lewis curls into a tight ball at the side of the bed, trying to stifle the sobs that are rattling through him. He can’t wake Crane up. It was just a dream. He can’t rob Crane of any of the sleep he so desperately needs. He can handle this himself, just like he always has before.

 

The pain of falling onto the floor is nothing to the terror of the dream. And even now, it’s better than it has been in the previous weeks – at least now he can look up and see Crane breathing, reassured that he’s alive immediately instead of having to convince himself for hours before he can sleep again.

 

Looking at his peacefully sleeping face makes his guts twist. He almost expects blood to start soaking into the sheets and dripping down to the floor. Hyperventilating, he scrambles away from the bed and towards the back doors, shaking like a leaf.

 

With the door thrown open, his legs only carry him as far as the edge of the deck before they give out and he collapses. Hanging his head in his hand, he shakes in the cool night air, bathed with moonlight and streaked with tears.

 

Lewis had naively thought this would get easier – that the nightmares would be less horrible, that they’d go away, even. But even with the brief period of respite, when he felt safe falling asleep in Crane’s arms, there’s no escape. He’s a murderer twice over now. He deserves this. He deserves far worse than this, honestly, but instead of him getting it, it’s Crane, it’s Cynda, it’s everyone but him being beaten almost to death. And here he is fighting like an asshole again, trying to protect the ones he loves even as he endangers them even worse, even as he makes it possible for them to be hurt worse than he could ever imagine.

 

Lewis tries his best to stifle his sobs but it’s an exercise in futility – he’s unable to even breathe for a few long minutes, the images of Yasu and Titanium and Cynda’s father rocketing though his brain, and once he’s able to send those thoughts away, the thought of Crane lying dead on the floor in front of him…

 

He buries his head in his hands, curled around himself miserably on the edge of their back deck, his toes barely edging over the stairs down to the beach. Crane has to be okay, is the main thing. No matter what nightmares he has, no matter how often he has to run away, no matter what he’s done that makes him completely undeserving of his lover, Lewis has to make sure that Crane survives Titanium’s wrath at the end of this trip. As long as Crane survives it’s worth it.

 

Breezes slip through the open door and chill the sleeping cat. At first he ignores it, and then he rolls over, unconsciously seeking the warmth of his lover. But a pain in his ribs shocks him awake just as he reaches the opposite side of the bed, and he jolts in alarm. He first swings his head around to check the bathroom, but there’s no light shining through the open door.

 

Then he hears stifled sobs, and turns to see Lewis hunched over on the back porch. Sorrow lurches through him and he sits up, taking blankets with him. The cabin is freezing, a testament to how long the door has been open and Lewis has been out there.

 

Swinging his legs over the bed to go to his lover, Crane is reminded by a stab of pain that he can’t just get out of bed anymore. His choices are to wrestle with his prosthetic or crawl, and honestly, he’d prefer crawling. He drags a blanket to the floor with him and crawls out the back door with a little mew to announce his presence. He sits beside Lewis and wraps the blanket around them both.

 

He doesn’t ask why Lewis is crying. He doesn’t really need to, he can guess a bunch of things and they’d probably all be right. He just lays his head on his lover’s shoulder and purrs to try and soothe him.

 

“Sorry,” Lewis mutters, closing his eyes and trying to get himself under control. It’s useless. He can’t cut off the waves of fear and guilt that are overwhelming him, combined with the aftershocks of his nightmare. Still, he leans against Crane, trying to stop his tears, shuddering under the welcome blanket Crane’s brought out with him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, “I’m so fucking sorry you don’t need this you don’t need any of this…”

 

“Shh,” Crane soothes him, cupping his face and touching their noses together. “I need _you_.”

 

He cradles Lewis to his chest and rocks him softly, purring louder to ground him with a familiar, comforting sound. He runs his fingers through Lewis’ hair and wraps the blanket tighter around him. He recalls a time like this when he was young, frightened and inconsolable, and one of the maids in his family’s staff found him hiding in a stair closet sobbing. She crawled under with him and wrapped him in a hug and sang him a song, and it was the first and last time he ever saw her. But the lullaby always stuck with him. It was the only time anyone ever sang to him as a child.

 

He’s not much of a singer, but for Lewis, he’d do anything. He keeps his voice quiet and soothing, running his fingers through his lover’s soft hair as he sings, “You can run like wind, you can shine like the sun. You can talk up a storm and you’ve only begun,” he turns his head to rub his nose against Lewis’ forehead. “And whenever you smile you can light up a room. When you fall in my arms, I could soar to the moon.”

 

Lewis’ sobs are slowing down somewhat as Crane tickles him with his whiskers, and hums, “Love of my life, you bring me joy, you bring me joy. Love of my life, you bring me so much joy.”

 

He lifts Lewis’ chin to look him in the eye and wipes his tears away with the corner of the blanket. “You’re the colors of rainbows, you’re oceans of dreams. A bundle of energy, a gift to me,” he licks Lewis’ forehead once. “You sing me your songs and as I listen to you, I marvel at your gifts and what you can do.”

 

Cradling Lewis to his chest, he repeats the two lines of the chorus, his words low and vibrating slightly with his purring. “You fill my world with the wonders of your love, I’ve gotten glimpses of heaven, heaven. Love of my life, you bring me joy, you bring me joy. Love of my life, you bring me so much joy.”

 

Lewis buries his face in Crane’s chest, overcome with love. He’s never had anyone sing to him before. Crane’s rough, low voice curls around him comfortingly, his hands soft and gentle running through his hair. Lewis slumps against him, tightening his lips against more tears.

 

There’s a long moment of silence after Crane stops singing, punctuated by Lewis’s uneven breaths, trying to get his crying under control. Finally he inhales sharply and looks up at Crane, squinting in the darkness. It almost looks like his lover is framed by stars above their heads, like some kind of angel. He wouldn’t be surprised.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles again, still blinking away tears. “Bad dream.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Crane offers, even though he pretty much already knows what Lewis will say. He’s never been a very big talker, after all. He doesn’t need Lewis to talk about what bothers him, he just needs Lewis to know that he’s willing to talk if he wants to.

 

“Not really.” Lewis mutters, turning away. And then he thinks about waking up like this for another year at least. Horrible dreams every single night until he can repress the memories down deep enough that they aren’t on his mind immediately upon going to bed. If nothing else, he can’t keep Crane up at night when he’s supposed to be healing.

 

“I…. okay, probably I should but… fuck, I’m so fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have… I mean, it’s past midnight and you need to sleep…” He’s being honest, but still casting around for any excuse to avoid this conversation, at least to move it to another day.

 

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” Crane says, trying to be light-hearted as he nudges Lewis’ elbow with his own. “I want to be here for you. I want to listen.”

 

Lewis flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please don’t say that.” He says in a small, strangled voice. “Please I just… I just dreamed you were dead and I can’t, I’m so fucking sorry but I can’t handle it right now.”

 

“Oh- oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Crane squeezes his arms tighter around Lewis. “I’m sorry, it’s okay, I’m okay, I’m not even tired. I promise, I’m up and awake now and I’m here. I’m here to listen.”

 

“S’fine.” Lewis mumbles, drawing his legs up against his chest, He’s tense and frightened in the circle of Crane’s arms, trying to breathe evenly, keep his voice from cracking. He reminds himself Crane’s told him worse stories already. But he keeps remembering the fear in his lover’s eyes when he turned on him, hands bloodied – Lewis wipes his eyes quickly, resting his forehead on his knees.

 

“I’m… Yasu was the second person I killed,” He says, his voice almost inaudible. “My sister’s dad… I bet you guessed already, huh.”

 

Crane’s jaw tightens. He’d had assumptions, when Lewis had yelled at him about how he’d seen similar damage done to his sister, and months ago when he couldn’t even talk about his sister at all because he’d been so upset, but to actually have confirmation is almost nice. It takes away some of the uncertainty.

 

“I’m glad you told me,” he says, trying to sound as honest as he feels. “I’d be a little bit of a hypocrite if I told you it was bad that you killed anyone.”

 

“It… it’s not as bad as…” Lewis takes a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts. He’s never told anyone about this. Even knowing Crane’s killed before, knowing he’s been through far, far worse… it doesn’t make it much easier. But it makes it possible.

 

“When I found out about Cynda I went straight to Boston. Where she was. I was squatting in this horrible fucking apartment with no heat in the middle of winter and she used to come over and sleep on my floor when her dad… he hit her like Titanium hits you.” He swallows hard, forcing himself to keep talking. “He wasn’t… I mean, my dad was an alcoholic but he never hit me, he just didn’t give a shit, and her dad… he wasn’t anything. He didn’t have any excuse. He was just some guy who beat the fuck out of his daughter whenever she wasn’t perfect. And he beat her so bad she pissed blood and told me it was fine, she was used to it. He was killing her. So I had to stop it. So I started watching him and waiting. And then Cynda went out of town on a trip with her choir group at school and I… I bought a baseball bat and followed him home and…”

 

Lewis covers his face, heart beating out of his chest. He feels numb, he can barely feel Crane’s arms around him.

 

Crane rubs Lewis’ shoulder, tightening the blanket around them. He listens passively, nodding to let Lewis know he’s hearing him, and waits until he’s done speaking for sure before he leans in to nuzzle his cheek. He’s not terribly rattled by this news, given what he’s been through in the past, but his heart aches for Lewis anyway.

 

“Killing people is terrifying,” he says quietly after a comforting silence. “I’ve been doing it for twenty years, and I’ve never gotten used to it. And, for the record, I think you made the right move with your sister’s father.”

 

“I think so too, it’s just… when I did it… I just kept hurting him. Over and over.” Lewis bites his cheek, “He broke three ribs and I think I have shitty vision because of him hitting me over the back of my head but I… I broke my fingers punching him and I didn’t stop, I knocked all his teeth out, I fucking killed him and I didn’t stop hitting and…” He blinks away tears, unable to meet Crane’s eyes. “And then with Yasu. It was worse. Because he hurt me and he hurt you and he… he wasn’t dangerous anymore, he couldn’t fight back, and I still… I was so angry…”

 

He lets out a harsh, painful sob, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I’m just like Cynda’s dad.” He moans, dropping his head.

 

Crane knows Lewis isn’t anything like the man Lewis is describing, but he also knows that immediately denying it for him won’t change much of his thought process. It’s always easier to tell someone what they are over what they aren’t.

 

“You’re compassionate,” he says, resting his chin on Lewis’ shoulder. “You’re brave, and you’re strong. You’re motivated and considerate. You’re stubborn and passionate and beautiful. You are a lot of things, but abusive is not one of them. You’ve always treated me well- unless I was acting like a prick, then you treated me like the prick I was. You’ve never hurt or scared me on purpose and I know you never will. I trust you. I trust you more than anybody in the universe.”

 

“I beat an unarmed man to death in front of you instead of fucking helping you.” Lewis cries, covering the back of his neck with his hands. “And then I tried to run away. Tell me how that makes me compassionate or trustworthy or brave. Tell me how that fucking makes me someone who deserves to even touch you.” He’s sobbing again, bitterly, burying his face in his knees.

 

“It makes you human,” Crane says firmly. “If the tables were turned, I would have done the same thing. Yasu used you and manipulated you and he nearly destroyed us, and frankly, he got what he deserved. If he wasn’t dead now, he’d just be hurting somebody else, because that was his job Besides, there isn’t even anyone to miss him.”

 

“His… he had parents. He had to take care of them. Unless he was lying about that too. But…” Lewis runs his hands through his hair, his voice still muffled because he’s talking into his knees rather than raising his head and looking Crane in the eyes.

 

“I told him they’d never find his body. And then I killed him. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I mean I did, but, I didn’t want to... I did, but…” He loses track of his sentence, dissolving into tears. “I shoudn’t have… I never should’ve even wanted to…”

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Crane says honestly, rubbing Lewis’ back. “I don’t think there’s anything I can say that you would believe. Except maybe that I love you, and I’m proud of you, and that the universe is a lot better off with Yasu dead.”

 

Lewis takes a deep, shuddering breath, and falls sideways against Crane, sobbing. “I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be like this.” He gasps, clenching his fists. He’s remembering the look in Crane’s eyes when he pushed him back with bloody hands after Yasu, the way Crane cried out for him in the thunderstorm when he ran away, the way Crane screamed when he hurt his ribs, Crane’s shoulders squaring for a fight the first time he ever came home drunk. He doesn’t want any of these things to be true. He can’t stand the thought of ever hurting Crane, frightening Crane. But he’s done it before.

 

“I don’t want to let you down anymore,” He murmurs into Crane’s chest, weeping.

 

“You’ve never let me down,” Crane says, probably untruthfully. He’s sure at some point over the months he’s been disappointed, but nothing feels strong or big enough to make it feel like a lie. “And, hey, even if you do, that’s normal. And it just makes our relationship stronger when we get through it. I’d be so bored if you were perfect.”

 

“Why’re you so good,” Lewis mumbles. His chest is hitching painfully, his eyes are burning with tears, and his heart is overfilling with love. “Why d’you even like me when you’re so fucking good.”

 

“Yang to my yin,” he nudges Lewis’ chest with his elbow. “You complete me. I was only half a man for most of my life until I met you, you know.”

 

His goofy smile softens into something realer, and he gives a little sigh, wrapping Lewis up into a hug. “My life has been like a jigsaw puzzle with no edge pieces. I was fumbling for years trying to find out where each piece went, and I spent a lot of time trying to shove pieces into spots they didn’t belong in just because I wanted my puzzle to be complete. Sometimes something comes along that shakes up a section of the puzzle I’d already completed. And then sometimes I learn that the picture I thought the puzzle was completing was dead wrong. There’s no right or perfect way to be in a relationship, Lewis. But you’re my edge pieces. You ground me. You remind me that no matter how scary things get, no matter how bad or impossible, you’re there to hold in all my shit and keep me from losing it. You’re a part of my puzzle now, and you could kill a hundred guys, and I’d still never let you go.”

 

That’s all it takes – whatever kind of stoicism Lewis was clinging to is gone now. He’s sobbing uncontrollably against Crane, swept under by a wave of love and gratitude. “I love you.” He wails, face twisted with emotion. “I love you so much, I love you so fucking much.”

 

He’s shaking, clinging to Crane without enough regard for his healing ribs, unable to even think past the garden of adoration blooming in his heart. Crying so hard he can barely breathe, he closes one hand around Crane’s, leaning into his chest like he’s the only real thing in the entire world.

 

Crane just shushes him and holds him close, ignoring the pain in his ribcage. Any pain is worth helping Lewis through his. The poor man has had enough pain his his lifetime, that any way he can lessen it is worse the physical pain. Besides, he’s pretty used to it by now.

 

“I know,” he licks Lewis’ forehead gently, kissing his hairline and nuzzling into the base of his horns. “Let’s go back inside, it’s freezing out here. We don’t have to go back to sleep right away if you don’t want.”

 

They test out the bath tub, and Crane sits back against Lewis’ chest, and they sit at the kitchen table for a while, Lewis sipping decaf coffee and Crane with a mug of herbal tea. They play footsie under the table and don’t talk much, sharing mostly smiles and little breathy laughs until the kitchen is lit by the warm blue glow of dawn.

 

“We should sleep,” Crane whispers, rather than break the film of quiet that has covered everything. “We can get a late start today.”


	43. Chapter 43

It’s almost 11 by the time they wake up the next day – Lewis has a cold flash of guilt for keeping Crane up, wasting so much time, before Crane lays a hand on his shoulder and tells him he wants to go to the beach.

 

“Are you… Look, I don’t want to tell you what you can’t do but… isn’t that going to hurt a lot?” Lewis asks, rubbing at his eyes. He’s still feeling fuzzy and disconnected from the night before – it feels like something’s broken open, like everything is different now, even though nothing’s really changed. It’s the same feeling he had when Crane talked about his family – like the air is clearer, like they’ve built another bridge across the chasms in their lives. It feels good, but exhausting at the same time. He sets about making breakfast, watching Crane pull on his sock and strap on his prosthetic leg.

 

“You’re sure it isn’t going to be too much?” He asks again, knowing he’s being overbearing but unable to help himself.

 

“I’ll do what I can, and when I can’t walk anymore, I’ll just sit in the water. And even though the water here isn’t salt water so it won’t smell exactly like a beach, it’ll still be nicer that sitting in a cabin all day limping and frowning. Besides, no salt in the water is probably better for my suture. I’ll even give you the honor of carrying me to the beach on your back,” Crane says cheekily as he pushes up to a stand and experiments with how much weight he can carry on his ankle.

 

“How about you giving me the honor of teaching you to swim so you don’t drown in the riptide,” Lewis says without thinking about it, and then cocks his head, actually considering it. Actually, it might be pretty easy to teach Crane to at least dog paddle – cat paddle? – and it’d be a lot less hard on him than walking.

 

“Do you know if your leg can get submerged in water?” He asks, setting two plates of scrambled eggs down on the table.

 

“We took a bath last night, genius,” Crane laughs as he limps into the kitchen and drops into one of the two chairs by the table. “Unless you meant my prosthetic. In which case I have no idea, but it’d probably be safer to just not take it in the water.”

 

“You know what I meant, ass,” Lewis gives Crane a sideways grin, settling into the seat across from him. “But really, though, do you want to try and learn to swim? I can’t really say I’ll be a great teacher but, I mean, since I didn’t get a chance at the beach last time…”

 

Crane kicks him under the table to keep that sentence from going anywhere inappropriate and he picks his fork up with a grin. “I’m not sure I’ll be such a great student. I’ve never gone in deep water before, I don’t even know where to begin. But I trust you not to deliberately drown me, so sure, lets do it.”

 

“I promise I’ll only drown you on accident,” Lewis laughs.

 

After breakfast they get themselves organized and head down to the beach. They work together to seal an airtight bag around Crane’s cast so it isn’t ruined by the water, and use a lot of medical tape to make sure it stays that way. Crane insists on taking the stairs down to the sand himself, and does a pretty good job with the help of the railing. But after a few steps on the dunes, he lets Lewis lift him up onto his back and carry him most of the way to the actual waterfront.

 

“How’s your leg?” Lewis asks. “Your stitches – I mean, you know, where the stitches were – it’s not agitated or anything?”

 

“It’s a little... throbby. But nothing I can’t handle. Forward, steed!” he nudges Lewis’ hip with his organic paw and grabs onto his horns with both hands.

 

However, the instant they’re in the water, he regrets it. He likes it as deep as his waist, and it feels good on his suture, but when Lewis brings him out farther than he’s ever been in deep water, he clings to him with all four limbs and his tail.

 

“I changed my mind!” he meows, wrapped around Lewis like an octopus. “This was stupid! Cats and water are natural enemies! Even kindergartners know this! Don’t let me go I’m going to die!”

 

“No, you’re going to drown me,” Lewis grumbles, choking, clearing Crane’s arms away from his throat before he’s strangled. “Remember if you strangle me to death you go down too.”

 

He’s allowed a moment of breathing room, which he uses to turn in Crane’s panicked grasp so they’re facing each other.

 

“Okay, first lesson? Don’t choke your swimming teacher to death maybe,” He laughs, gently pushing Crane away from him, ignoring the frantic movements his lover makes to cling to him again. “I’m not going to let you drown, so just trust me.”

 

He has to stifle laughter again, because they’re in four feet of water, and even though Crane’s almost a foot shorter than him, both of them could easily stand with their heads above the waves. He doesn’t tell Crane, though – he’s wondering if he can pull this off, getting Crane to literally sink or swim. Not like he’s gonna let him sink, but still.

 

“Here, just… hang on to my arms and lie on your stomach, okay? Keep your face out of the water and take deep breaths. You’ll float. And if you don’t I’ll keep you up. Promise.”

 

“Why would I lie on my stomach, that sounds like the worst idea, my face should go the opposite direction of the substance I can’t breathe!” Crane, tail flops around miserably as he twists in the water, struggling between his natural reflex to go belly-down to maintain balance, and his unwillingness to lie with his face close to the water.

 

He flops and flails on his stomach, thrashing his legs around miserably as he fails to stay afloat. Lewis’ hand under his belly is the only thing that keeps him from feeling like a rock about to sink.

 

“Crane.” Lewis pulls him upwards, supporting him with one hand under his chest and another under his belly. “Relax for just a fucking second. I’m not going to drown you. I’m not saying throw your damn face underwater, I’m saying raise your face up and try and breathe normally, okay? The more air in your lungs, the better you’ll float. And stop kicking for a second, you’re gonna be fine.”

 

Crane’s tail whirls around in a circle, slapping the water in a desperate effort to keep him balanced as he forces his limbs to go still and he holds his breath with as much air in his lungs as possible. For a few brief seconds, he floats, but as soon as Lewis starts to draw his hands away, the instant Crane feels their support leave him, all the air rushes out of him in a blast and he starts to kick again, paddling his arms sloppily.

 

“What’s even the point of swimming, why do people do this to themselves?” he pants after Lewis’ palms have returned to support his body. “Why do people throw themselves into water on purpose that’s so deep they have to thrash around to keep from _dying?_ ”

 

“You don’t _thrash_ , you idiot, you just float.” Lewis snaps, and then focuses on Crane’s panicked face, the way he’s blinking and hyperventilating as the water laps around his chin.

 

“Look.” He says, taking a deep breath, trying to relax and be sympathetic. “The thing about swimming is you can’t be freaking out the entire time. The more you panic, the harder it gets. You have to kind of trust the water to keep you up. Because while you’re alive, you’re naturally buoyant – you have air in your lungs so you’re lighter than water, know what I mean? Everyone can float. And even if you can’t, I’m gonna catch you before you go underwater, okay? So trust me.”

 

Crane angles his chin up uncomfortably to keep it away from the water, panting still, but a little calmer. “Okay. Okay, I trust you,” he nods, swallowing hard. “You can let go now.”

 

He holds his breath and scrunches up his face to keep from panicking as Lewis’ hands leave his body. His hips and legs immediately sink several inches and he whimpers, but he trusts Lewis. His upper body stays floating, as well as the bag around his cast which has turned into a floaty almost.

 

Shaking his head when he can’t hold his breath anymore, Lewis’ hands return and he exhales desperately. “Okay,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “So if I’m ever stuck out in open water, rescue has exactly as many seconds to get to me as I can hold my breath.”

 

Lewis nods. “And I’m right next to you, so you’re definitely fine. You know you can float. And you don’t have to hold your breath. I keep telling you, you’ll be fine if you breathe.” He pauses for a moment, trying to remember how he learned to swim in his neighbor’s backyard pool the summer he was seven. His dad hadn’t arranged for lessons – Lewis suspects the neighbor just felt bad for him – but he showed up every week with some other kids from around the neighborhood. He can’t remember specific lessons. Swimming just feels instinctive now.

 

“Look, maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. Does it make more sense to float on your back?”

 

Crane wiggles and flops in the water to try it, until he’s facing up. It certainly feels more natural and less dangerous, but he can’t keep it up easily. “My tail is pretty heavy,” he mutters, and has to keep flutter kicking to keep his hips from sinking down. “It’s almost fifteen pounds on its own, maybe I’m just too off-balance to float.”

 

“Okay, I guess, uh… maybe moving would work better? You’re already kicking your legs, you should move your hands too, like you’re pushing away the water.” Lewis demonstrates above the surface. “It’ll help you stay upright. Actually swishing your tail might help too, maybe? I really don’t have any advice about tails.”

 

“What? Why not?” Crane laughs, and does as Lewis instructs. He kicks his legs and moves his arms at the same time, and then shouts in surprise when he shoots several inches to the side. He flaps like a panicked bird until Lewis can make up the distance and catch him, and he clings to his large, safe island of a lover. “So that worked,” he says, his eyes wide and his heart pumping. “Okay, okay, let me try again, let me go.”

 

He repeats his motion as soon as he’s freed and glides through the water on his back like a beached frog once, twice, and then three times. Lewis wades through the chest-deep water to keep up with him, but Crane is doing sort of okay. Save for the occasional thrashing.

 

“You pick this up really fast.” Lewis says with a note of pride in his voice, although he’s not really surprised. Crane’s always been incredibly physically competent, and in the water, he doesn’t need to compensate for his missing paw.

 

Grinning, he pulls up his feet and swims alongside Crane, keeping out of range of any wild paddling. “You’re supposed to scissor kick your legs, or you can kind of frog kick them, uh, what do you call it… like this.” He does a breast stroke kick, shooting ahead, and circles back. “I guess it depends on what’s most natural – there’s different strokes but right now you probably should just work on staying above water.”

 

“Staying above water sounds nice,” Crane says, flipping back over onto his stomach now that he’s pretty sure he’s not going to sink like a stone. He flaps his arms in quick, short strokes, his legs slapping the water in a crude, messy doggy paddle, and while he isn’t moving very quickly, he certainly looks proud of himself.

 

He can almost feel his missing paw as his left leg glides through the water, and the weightlessness is doing wonders for his aching ribs, even his bound arm feels light as air. He’s never been in water deep enough to move like this in, but now he’s hoping they can come back every day.

 

“This is exhausting,” he exclaims after almost a full ten minutes of amateur paddling. Lewis taught him how to breast stroke - which he promptly did on his back instead and called it a “back stroke” (Lewis decided not to tell him it was already called that) and taught him how to tread water, as well as how to float while breathing in and out. It’s certainly enough for one day for him, and he flaps over to Lewis until he can wrap his arms around his neck from behind and lay against his back.

 

“Yeah, it gets a lot less tiring when you don’t have to think about what you’re doing anymore.” Lewis turns back towards the shore. “After you know what you’re doing it’s all instinct. You can go for years without swimming and be great at it as soon as you get back in the water. Like riding a bike.” He looks over his shoulder at Crane and grins. “You haven’t done that either.”

 

“No, I haven’t,” Crane sticks his tongue out and hisses as the water gets shallower and holds up his body less, so he presses uncomfortably against Lewis. He drops into the water and walks his hands along the bottom, until the shore is close enough that he can flop over onto his back and let the little waves wash over him.

 

He suddenly shoots upright, too quickly for comfort. “Oh crap I didn’t put sun screen on. Hurry, I’m going to bake alive.”

 

“Aah, shit, where’d the bag go?” Lewis offers his shoulder for Crane to support himself. “I forgot too, this is going to be horrible.” He helps Crane to his feet – foot – and together they stagger back up the beach. 

 

They end up spending another hour or so lazing around on the beach (having rapidly put on sunscreen), wandering through the surf, dozing off in the sun. Eventually they go into town for what’s either a very late lunch or an early dinner at a small diner. Crane does a lot better walking on the sidewalk than the sand, and even manages to get himself most of the way back to the cabin without leaning on Lewis or his crutches. By the time they end up back at the cabin, though, Crane’s visibly limping, and he doesn’t even attempt to walk across the strip of sand leading up to their door. Lewis carries him across again, depositing him gently on the porch.

 

“You’re kind of amazing, you know.” He remarks to Crane, pushing the front door open.

 

“No, shut up,” Crane mumbles tiredly, limping heavily in through the front door. He wants to collapse on his front on the bed, but he knows that would hurt his ribs, so he just lays down gently on his back with a groan.

 

He sticks his leg straight out so Lewis can help him pull his foot and sock off, groaning as the pressure is released from his aching ankle. The skin has gone very bruised from being walked on too early, but he doesn’t really have a choice. He can feel he’s bleeding a little, and doesn’t argue when Lewis fetches a hot wet towel and bandages from the bathroom. He sighs contentedly as Lewis sits at the edge of the bed to massaging his ankle and rub antibacterial cream into his sutures.

 

“You have magic hands,” he groans, reaching overhead to grab a pillow and drag it down to his head.

 

“Glad to hear it.” Lewis says distractedly, more focused on Crane’s leg than his voice. “I’m gonna put a bandage on this. You’re bleeding again, but it’s not a lot. Hopefully it’ll stop overnight.”

 

He looks up at Crane and bites back what he was about to say – ‘Try to take it easy’. Crane doesn’t have time to take it easy. Instead, he smears antibiotic gel over Crane’s sutures, pressing a strip of gauze across the stump and wrapping it in bandages. When he’s finished, he washes his hands and flops down next to Crane on the bed.

 

“How’s your ribs?” He asks, reaching under the pillow on his lover’s face to stroke his ear.

 

Crane tilts his head into the touch, knocking the pillow away so Lewis has better access to pet him. His ear still smarts a little from where it had to be sewn together to keep from losing half of it, but the petting is blissful.

 

“Actually the least of my concerns right now,” he admits, his voice rumbling on a purr. “They don’t hurt too bad, anyway. My leg hurts more than anything else.”

 

He tries to angle his hand so he can scratch at Lewis’ horns, but the stretch is awkward and all he manages is a little brush over his forehead with his knuckles. “Get over here,” he tugs at Lewis’ collar until the younger man is leaning out over him close enough that he can angle his chin up and bump his cold nose against his lover’s lips.

 

Grinning, Lewis rolls over and straddles Crane, supporting himself on his elbows inches above the other man’s body. “Magic hands, huh?” He laughs, leaning his forehead against Crane’s. “How ‘bout the rest of me, is that magic too?”

 

Crane matches his grin and wraps his legs around Lewis’ hips. His left ankle smarts a bit, but it’s worth the moment of pain in order to be so close to his lover. He’s suddenly aware of how incredibly long it’s been since they had sex - more than a month if his count is right.

 

“We could find out,” he says with a cheeky smirk, but Lewis’ playful smile drops a bit. Crane’s grin lessens in mirror image, and he takes Lewis’ cheeks in both hands to keep him from drawing away. “Hey, come on. I’m a little hurt, I’m not dead. You can be gentle, can’t you? Make love to me?”

 

“Yeah.” Lewis says, equal parts nervous and thrilled. “Yeah, I… just tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?” He leans in and kisses Crane softly, first on the mouth, then the cheek, then the edge of his jaw. Slowly, he shifts down until he’s kissing and gently biting at Crane’s neck, his collarbones. His hand reaches up to cup the back of Crane’s head as he rotates his hips slowly against his lover’s.

 

It’s been so long since they made love that Crane feels light-headed when his blood starts shifting around to all the right places. Lewis’ teeth on his skin are like little electric shocks, and he alternates between panting lightly and accidentally holding his breath. The pressure of his lover’s hips against his own has his lips trembling with as of yet unwhispered moans.

 

He wishes he could wrap his arms properly around Lewis, but the clunky cast on his right forearm prevents that, and all he can do is cling to him with those fingertips while running his left hand down Lewis’ side and back. It’s almost silly how excited he is just to be intimate with Lewis again after so many weeks.

 

He looks down, shoving the pillow under his head so he can watch Lewis kiss down his chest and over his heart. He makes a note of the way his chest looks so bare, Lewis’ lips flanked on either side by tattoos along his sides and down his arms, but he can’t think about it long before Lewis’ lips wander lower and rational thought evaporates in Crane’s mind.

 

“I missed you.” Lewis mumbles, sliding against Crane’s fuzzy skin, drawing down his lover’s loose pants. “I missed this.” He runs his hands over Crane’s thighs, smiling as Crane twitches under his touch. Planting a quick kiss on the edge of his lover’s hip, he slips a finger into the sheathe between his legs, stroking gently.

 

“Fuck!” Crane throws his head back, his body snapping rigid like an arrow. His torn left ear flashes pain down his neck as it hits the covers, but pleasure ripples up his body from the finger in his sheath. His toes curl - he swears he can feel all of them for a brief moment as his head swirls under the pleasure of being fingered in such an intimate spot. His hips jerk and his belly shudders with unsteady breaths, his prick already oozing lubricant under Lewis’ careful touch.

 

Grinning, Lewis runs his other hand down the edge of Crane’s thigh, pushing them further apart. He continues stroking the interior of Crane’s sheath until his lover’s cock slides out, gliding perfectly into the palm of his hand. He draws his fingers across the length a few times and then slips it into his mouth, gazing up at Crane through his hair falling across his face.

 

Crane takes in a long, loud breath, his back arching as far as he can without pain. His right arm is stuck helplessly by his side, but his left hand strokes Lewis’ face and down his shoulder, up the back of his neck to grope at his horns and tangle in his hair. His thighs tremble on either side of Lewis’ jaw, his chest is shuddering with uneven breaths, and he’s realizing very quickly just how strung out he’s been.

 

“Lewis, Lewis,” he pants, heat coiling in the base of his cock. His lover’s mouth feels like salvation, freedom from all the stress and pain and fear of the last several weeks. Lewis’ lips and tongue are a vestige of blissful normality, a reminder that no matter what happens, no matter how many body parts he loses, Lewis will always love Crane.

 

There are tears in his eyes that roll down the sides of his neck when he blinks, but he doesn’t try to hide them. There’s no need to. They aren’t sad tears anyway.

 

It feels like it’s been a thousand years since they’ve made love. It’s all so welcome to Lewis – Crane’s hand in his hair, the taste of his cock in his mouth, the way his lover reacts so strongly to every tiny movement. He’s missed all the sounds Crane makes when he’s aroused, the little gasps and groans and cries.

 

He bobs his head slowly, easily swallowing Crane’s prick when it’s not out to its full length, running his tongue back and forth across the sensitive underside. His hands are on Crane’s hips, pulling him in close. He closes his eyes, utterly happy, and moves his head just a little bit faster.

 

“Oh, oh god, oh no, Lewis, I’m- shit, you’re- ” he tries to warn his lover about how quickly he’s approaching orgasm after so long without stimulation, it’s embarrassing how fast he’s being overwhelmed. Lewis’ tongue is like magic, and his words are a jumbled mess in his own mouth. He can only push desperately at his lover’s forehead, trying to buck him off before it’s too late.

 

“Hmm?” Lewis sits up, wiping his mouth. “Are you okay?”

 

Crane sags onto the covers, breathing heavily, his cock throbbing as it cools down from the edge where he’d been teetering moments ago. “I’m fine,” he pants, cracking his eyes open to look up at his lover. “I’m just an old man who hasn’t had a go in a while. I’m a little oversensitive. Got really close really fast.”

 

Lewis is barely able to hide his relief. He’d thought – well, it didn’t matter. He gives Crane a cocky smile.

 

“Guess we answered the question about whether I’m magic.” He teases, propping himself up on one elbow next to Crane, running his other hand gently over his lover’s torso, careful to avoid the worst of the bruising. “I guess I can give you a rest.”

 

“How considerate,” Crane teases, leaning up to lick across Lewis’ lips until the younger man opens his mouth for a kiss. He laps into his mouth, grabbing him by the hair with his left hand so he can draw him closer, and he props his right leg up, his left thigh resting on the blankets. “Prep me, I want you inside me asap.”

 

“Can’t say no to that.” Lewis grins. He reaches down and gives Crane a few light tugs on his cock, just enough to make the other man gasp. The contact leaves his fingers slick and wet. It’s incredibly useful to be dating someone whose cock makes its own lubricant.

 

He slips his hands between Crane’s legs and runs his middle finger lightly around his pucker, enjoying the way his lover shudders and moans as he inserts it slowly. He’s trying to keep as light a touch as possible, even though his own penis is fully erect and he’s aching to be inside Crane.

 

Crane’s eyes flutter closed again, his mouth going slack in an O of pleasure as Lewis’ long finger arcs up into him. He almost forgot what this was like. The last time they were intimate, he’d done the penetrating, so it’s been even longer than he thought before since he felt this pleasure.

 

He gropes for Lewis’ shoulder, running his hand reverently down his arm and grips his wrist, pinning it in place so he can rock his hips down on Lewis’ finger. His brows raise and knit when Lewis presses in a second, and when he closes his mouth to whine through his nose, the tip of his tongue remains outside his lips.

 

Lewis bites his lip, overcome by love for Crane. He’d almost forgotten the adorable, stupid, utterly charming way he sticks out his tongue. He slips in a third finger, relishing Crane’s movement against his hand, the way his eyelids flutter. Thrusting deeper, he reaches out with his other hand to take hold of Crane’s cock again, stroking lightly, slowly.

 

When Crane whimpers and presses forward against him, Lewis withdraws his fingers, scooting back and sitting up against the headboard of the bed, the movement making him gasp himself as his cock brushes against the sheets. He runs his hand over it quickly, making sure he’s lubricated as well.

 

“C’mere.” He murmurs, drawing Crane forward. “Are you ready?”

 

Crane is a little nervous about trying to ride, but he’d do anything to get Lewis inside him at that point, and he’s too embarrassed by his own shortcomings to admit he’d be more comfortable on his back. He straddles Lewis’ hips and he would lean down to kiss him if his damn ribs weren’t stopping him.

 

Lewis helps him position his lover’s cock at the right angle, and then all he has to do is work with gravity to draw Lewis’ length into him. His mouth drops open around a long, low moan as every inch of his young lover’s cock fills and stretches him. He shudders and gasps, tipping his head back as he settles his weight totally on his lover’s iron.

 

He takes a few moments to just breathe, feeling his inner muscles pulse involuntarily around Lewis, clenching and fluttering in excitement. God, he needed this. Putting the weight on his knees, he slowly starts to buck his hips up and down, taking care not to put too much twisting into the motion, lest he further harm his already iffy ribs.

 

Lewis is bucking his hips too, groaning as he thrusts into Crane, leaning his head back against the headboard. He places his hands on his lover’s hips, pulling him closer, steadying him. Crane feels so, so amazing against him, his muscles tensing and clenching around his cock as they move together.

 

“God, Crane, oh my god…” He moans, closing his eyes in bliss. He’s missed this so much.

 

Crane’s cock throbs, not only from the hot pleasure of the friction inside him, but just from watching Lewis’ face. He’s a vision of reverence, eyes closed, brows knitted, mouth open and cheeks flushed. The spikes of pleasure that jolt up Crane’s spine with every drop into his lover’s lap is enough to keep him going for the time being, the muscles of his thighs getting a workout as they alone carry his weight up and down.

 

He rests his forearms on Lewis’ shoulders to give him something to balance off of, and he tries to speed up a little. He can’t bend or twist without pain, all he can do is lift up and drop back down almost mechanically, meeting Lewis’ thrusts with careful enthusiasm.

 

It takes Lewis a moment to notice that his lover is being weirdly quiet, and he has to force himself to come back down to earth and open his eyes. Crane’s still riding him, balanced over his shoulders, but he looks like he’s concentrating hard rather than enjoying himself, almost wincing.

 

“Hey,” Lewis says breathlessly, reaching up to stroke Crane’s undamaged ear and slowing his thrusts slightly. “Is this… are you doing okay?”

 

Crane drops his forehead against Lewis’, panting slightly. His ribs don’t exactly hurt like hell, but he knows if he keeps this up for too long, they will. The constant up-down motion of riding his lover has his bones shifting beneath his flexing muscles, and it probably wouldn’t be long before even breathing would hurt.

 

“I want to say yes,” he whispers, embarrassed about his own body’s limits, especially since he was the one who asked Lewis to make love to him. “But my ribs are starting to protest.”

 

“D’you want to stop?” Lewis asks quietly, and is relieved when Crane shakes his head adamantly.

 

“But I would be more comfortable on my back.” He admits. Lewis nods, still catching his breath. He wraps his arms carefully around Crane’s shoulders and bends forwards, laying him down gently on the bed. Leaning down to kiss him, Lewis rocks his hips, settling in between Crane’s legs again. “Better?”

 

“Much,” Crane gasps, his eyes instantly closing. The pressure has been totally lifted off his ribs, replaced with pillowy softness under his body, and the ache that had been building spreads out into a dull hum through his nerve endings. He wraps his legs around Lewis’ waist and rocks his hips up a bit to meet him, grinding Lewis’ cock into him. “Go, go please.”

 

Lewis needs no further urging. He thrusts steadily into Crane, his breath quickening, letting out a low moan of pleasure. Supporting himself on his elbows, he strokes the back of Crane’s head, kissing him passionately as the movement of his hips speeds up.

 

“Fuck – you feel amazing…” He mumbles into his lover’s lips.

 

With the ache of supporting his own weight taken out of his bones, all Crane has to do is lie there and take it. And take it he does, with ardor. He pants and gasps and groans and whines, pleasure shaking up his spine with every rush of Lewis’ body into his own. Each stab sends a ripple of pleasure shivering up his nervous system and echoing all the way down to his toes.

 

“Oh, oh, oh,” he makes a quiet sound with every thrust, puffing noises of pleasure each time his muscles clench and pulse. His orgasm is quickly approaching again, building in the base of his cock, his knot getting ready to swell inside his sheath. He wishes he could arch up and cling to Lewis like a morning glory, but he has to admit his own limits or risk hurting himself.

 

Instead he just drapes his arms up over Lewis’ shoulders, resting his cast against his trapezius, and he rocks his hips to meet his thrusts. “I’m close, I’m close,” he whispers, his words shaking in his throat as he forces them out of his cottony mouth.

 

Grinning and gasping. Lewis reaches down and wraps his hand around Crane’s cock, stroking in time with the rhythm of his hips. He plunges deep into his lover, relishing the way he groans. Every noise Crane makes is music. It feels like he’s falling into his bright green eyes, blurry with pleasure. As Crane shifts beneath him, Lewis feels himself nearing orgasm as well, and thrusts faster still.

 

Crane’s orgasm hits him, but it’s not as overwhelming as he’d worried it might be. It washes over him all at once, rippling through his muscles, but it’s gentle with him. His own orgasm makes love to him right along with Lewis, cascading over him in quiet, tingling ripples. His voice escalates and wavers in his throat, vibrating in his chest with an explosion of purring as his muscles contract and pulse with the tide of his pleasure.

 

When Crane starts purring, Lewis closes his eyes, an expression of complete joy spreading across his face. He arches his head back, glorying in the sound, the feel of his lover beneath him, the waves of pleasure and love washing over him. He comes with a quiet moan, almost reluctant to make any kind of noise to interrupt the rumble of Crane’s purr. The orgasm jolts through him and he’s left trembling, breathing heavily, dropping his head to smile down at Crane.

 

“God I love you.” He gasps.

 

Crane pulls him down for a kiss in reply, his tail thumping happily on the bed and he licks the sweat from his lover’s neck and jaw and hairline with his throat still vibrating. He doesn’t even falter as Lewis pulls out and rolls over sideways so he doesn’t crush his injured lover.

 

“That was perfect,” Crane says hoarsely, smiling tiredly and wishing he could turn on his side to face his lover. “You’re so good.”

 

“You’re better,” Lewis mumbles, already sleepy. He slings his arm over Crane’s chest gently, snuggling against his side. Dimly, he realizes they’re facing the wrong way on the bed, but he’s so comfortable he doesn’t want to move. After more than a month of barely being able to touch Crane even when they are together, he’s so unbelievably happy to feel the warmth of his body again, to run his hands over Crane’s velvety skin, the low hum of his lover’s purr vibrating against him.

 

Crane tiredly gropes for the blankets beside them, yanking them out of where they were neatly tucked in so he can cocoon it over them. He yawns widely, meowing a little at the end, and flexes his toes near the headboard in search of a pillow. He grabs one in his claws and with a flick of his ankle, tosses it up to their heads and lifts his neck to jam it under. He wants to curl on his side so he can snuggle up to Lewis, but it’s not worth the rib pain, so he makes room on the pillow for Lewis to cuddle up to his side.

 

He looks down at him, sleepily running fingers through his hair as Lewis drops off into sleep. He starts silently counting his blessings, and falls asleep mid-thought, thinking about how despite everything, his life is pretty okay right now. 


	44. Chapter 44

As the days pass, Crane’s leg has no choice but to get stronger. The painful pressure of walking on it when its not ready to really bear weight eventually gets more bearable, and then tolerable, and then it gets to the point where most of the time he hardly notices. Crane compartmentalizes the pain and carries on.

 

They spend a lot of time at the beach, continuing their swimming lessons, and in only a few days Crane is kitty paddling like a pro. He makes jokes about joining the Olympics as a swimmer alongside his brother after he manages three whole breast strokes in a row. The sand is still pretty hard to manage on his foot, but he gets better at it, even if he still has to lean partially on Lewis’ arm.

 

The rest of their time they spend in town, where it’s much easier for Crane to practice walking on the nice, solid concrete. He brings the crutches but hardly relies on them, and he has to remind himself not to lash out at strangers when they politely hold doors open for him. Every time he passes a slightly reflective surface he remembers how totally trashed he is, bruised and bandaged from head to toe, and reminds himself that people are just being polite to someone who looks like they sustained a serious accident. He wishes it had just been a car crash.

 

The looping memories in his nightmares of Titanium’s high pitched laugh and large hands and masked faces beating him are bearable with Lewis at his side every night. They hardly ever wake him up, but they aren’t as bad with the warmth and pressure of his lover’s comforting presence cutting into his subconscious.

 

And by day, they’ve already faded away into foggy memory, replaced by the joy of whatever they’re doing that day. Walking around town, experimenting with new foods, seeing outdoor plays and sitting to listen to public performers play music in amphitheaters. Barring being able to walk without pain, Crane thinks his life couldn’t really get any better right now.

 

For once, it feels like an actual vacation – more than that, like actual freedom. Lewis realizes on the sixth day on Paxum that he’s never spent this much time with Crane without the threat of Titanium hanging over them. It’s still there, to some degree, but Crane’s adjusting well to his prosthetic, barely stumbling when he walks, even trusting himself to run for a few yards one night while Lewis cheers him on. Regardless, Titanium’s presence isn’t oppressive here like it is back home. It’s almost like a physical weight has been lifted. They can feel safe together in public, they can plan for the next day without having to factor in the possibility of Crane being called away to do something dangerous.

 

A week in, they’re wandering together down a crowded main street together, joking and jabbing at each other. Lewis is watching his lover with pride while Crane strolls down the sidewalk confidently, barely wobbling on his feet. It’s amazing how quickly Crane’s acclimated to his prosthetic – he’s walking further and further every day, taking longer to go back to leaning on Lewis’s arm.

 

It helps that they’ve put a nice cushion of soft foam in the bottom of his leg, as well as a thick layer of gauze under his ankle inside the sock. It’s almost like walking on a sponge, and it takes a while for him to get too sore to continue. They’re currently on their way back from dinner at a nice fish shack by the bay, wandering around looking for something else to do.

 

Sitting in a backlit pagoda in a small park, a couple walks by with a small white dog on a leash, and his hackles instantly raise. His pupils slit and he stares the animal down as the pair chat about going in a nearby shop. Crane is so focused on tracking the puffball’s movements that he doesn’t hear the exchange between Lewis and the pair as they ask if the two of them are going to be sitting there long enough for them to tie the dog to the post of the stairway while they go in to shop for a few minutes. Next thing he knows, the dog is tied up in their vicinity, and his eyes widen as he realizes they intend to leave the little monster with them.

 

The little dog bounces up the stairs and Crane instantly yanks his feet up off the ground despite the dog’s leash being much too short for it to reach him, and he hisses loudly, his ears flattening back.

 

When he sees Crane jerk his feet back and hiss, Lewis immediately leaps to his feet, wide-eyed, casting around for any sign of Titanium, or some new _wonderful_ danger they’ll have to deal with. It takes him a moment to realize Crane’s staring down at the small fluffy dog in front of them, ears laid flat.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Lewis asks, bursting into laughter. He can’t help it – he should be more sympathetic, but relief at not actually being in danger combined with the slightly ridiculous size difference between Crane and the offending animal gets the best of him. “The dog? It’s like the size of your foot.”

 

“I don’t like dogs,” Crane gives a low growl in the back of his throat, his tail whipping back and forth behind him. When the dog gives a plaintive little whimper, Crane hisses again and even lashes out with a hand despite the distance between him and the dog when it lies down on its belly.

 

“Aw, leave it alone, you’re like eight times its size.” Lewis says, getting in between Crane and the dog, reaching down to scratch behind the pup’s ears. The dog relaxes a little and jumps up to lick at his hand, and he turns back to Crane with a grin that he hopes isn’t too mocking. “Real scary, huh?” He says over his shoulder, rolling his eyes slightly.

 

“I don’t like dogs!” Crane yowls, his knees up against his chest now despite the pain it shoots through his ribs. “Doesn’t matter the size of the damn thing! You know who else was small? Napoleon!”

“Know who else is small?” Lewis stands, leaving the dog to lean over Crane and ruffle his flattened ears, kissing him on the forehead. “You.”

 

“Don’t patronize me!” Crane flaps an arm at Lewis to wave him away. “I’ve never gotten along with dogs, they’re horrible and smelly and they bite and chase, I’ve been chased by dogs before, they’re relentless! Just because it’s cute and small doesn’t mean it’s not full of hellfire and worms, probably!”

 

Lewis rolls his eyes, flopping back down on the bench next to Crane and gesturing at the dog, which is sitting on its heels, panting with its tongue hanging out. “Does that seriously look like hellfire and worms to you?” He asks, stifling his laughter. “Because it looks like a little mutt to me. Wasn’t even too smelly.”

 

“Screw this, I’m gone,” Crane stands up on the bench and drops out the back side of the pagoda over the fence, his heart pounding in his chest. His throat feels tight and he immediately starts limping out over the grass to put as much distance between himself and the dog - and Lewis’ childish jokes - as possible.

 

For a second Lewis thinks it’s still a joke – that Crane’s pretending to be offended – and then he realizes there was absolutely no humor in Crane’s voice, and that he’s hobbling away without a backwards glance. Lewis runs his hand through his hair, mumbling “Fuck,” under his breath.

 

The couple that owns the dog comes out of the shop, and Lewis nods politely at them before taking off after Crane, catching up with him after a few feet. Crane might be walking a lot better, but he’s still relatively slow.

 

“Hey,” He says, catching at his lover’s elbow, blushing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made fun of you.”

 

For Lewis to come after him so quickly - even if he did get a block away - is so unexpected that when Lewis grabs him, Crane nearly stumbles. He turns, eyes wide to look at his lover, lips parted slightly in shock. He can’t remember the last time Lewis came after him so quickly like this.

 

Whenever they’ve gotten into arguments in the past, there was always a gap in between where there was shouting or tears or time apart before Lewis approached with apologies and he’d apologize in turn or forgive. He’s said sorry so quickly now, Crane almost thinks he missed something between when he left the pagoda and now, because this is so sudden it doesn’t seem right.

 

But then he realizes that this is progress. This is important, even if its over something as silly as an irrational dog phobia. His brows furrow as he looks up at his lover, overwhelmed with a rush of love. He’s glowing in the low light of the evening, beautiful and genuine willing. Witnessing this growth in Lewis is like watching mountains being sculpted. He steps forward and wraps his arms around the younger man, crushing his face into his chest with a whispered, “I love you.”

 

“What?” Lewis says, genuinely not understanding, but still returning the embrace willingly. “I didn’t… I mean I love you too but I was just being an asshole to you…”

 

He leans back from Crane for a second, cocking his head to one side and looking down at him, trying to figure out what happened. “Why aren’t you mad?” He asks honestly, giving Crane a look of utter confusion.

 

“Life’s too short and you’re too important to me to stay mad over a dog,” Crane says, rubbing his face back and forth over Lewis’ chest. “And I’m proud of you. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t an asshole from time to time, but you... owned up. You’re being very adult and... I don’t know, I appreciate it. Shut up.”

 

Now it’s Lewis’s turn to duck his head in embarrassment. “Man, I’m setting low standards.” He mumbles into the top of Crane’s head, bright red from both the compliment and the fact that him being an okay person was worthy of a compliment. “I am sorry though. I’m trying not to be such an asshole to you anymore. I don’t… I don’t wanna fight with you again like we did. Especially not over stupid shit.”

 

Crane reaches up and takes Lewis’ face with both hands as best he can and arches up on his tiptoes to bump his nose against his lover’s lips. He’s pretty sure he’s never loved Lewis more than in this exact moment. Knowing that Lewis is capable of growth like this makes their relationship feel more stable, like it could survive long term. Before he knows it he’s purring like a maniac and nuzzling Lewis’ cheeks right there on the sidewalk.

 

If possible, Lewis blushes even more hotly, squeezing his eyes shut as a smile spreads over his face. He kisses Crane and has to resist tightening his embrace – he doesn’t want to hurt Crane’s ribs again. Instead he leans back again, laughing lightly.

 

“Okay, so now that I’m not being an asshole and there’s not any dogs, do you feel up to going back to the beach? I can carry you if your leg hurts. It’s just…” He rubs at the back of his neck, giving Crane an embarrassed smile. “Just, the stars are really nice tonight…”

 

Crane looks up at the sky with a little smile. The edge is a peachy orange, but climbing higher the sky gets darker, and the stars are bright and beautiful. Even if it had been a cloudy starless night, the fact alone that Lewis is suggesting something romantic would have sealed the deal.

 

“Sure, it’s warm enough for a night swim,” he smiles, prying Lewis’ hand away from his neck so he can hold it.

 

They backtrack through the city, Crane bursting with pride for his lover. His head is spinning into overdrive, imagining what their relationship might be in a year, in five, in ten. He knows without a doubt he could be with Lewis for the rest of his life. However long that may be.

 

Lewis suggests they duck through an alley to shorten the distance between them and the beach, hopefully they’ll get there before the last light of the sunset fades so their eyes can slowly adjust. But as they pass by the darkened and slightly cracked open window of an apartment building, both men are startled by a very sudden appearance of a very loud and viciously barking dog inside.

 

It throws its weight against the window, barking like a rabid wild animal, snarling and gnashing its teeth. Crane’s back hits the opposite wall of the alleyway so hard it shocks pain down his spine and his legs buckle. If his heart was pounding before with the little dog, when faced with this animal scratching at the crack in the window like it would very much like to eat him alive, his heart might as well have stopped because it’s beating so fast he can’t feel it anymore.

 

It’s not like Lewis would have made any more ill-advised jokes anyway, but now he understands Crane’s nervousness. The dog throwing its weight against the window is huge, some kind of bully breed mutt that’s a thousand miles away from the sweet pit bulls and rottweilers he used to play with back in his trailer park on earth. This dog is all thrashing muscular paws, spittle flying from its snapping jaws to splatter against the cracked window pane. Instinctively, Lewis throws his arm out across Crane’s chest, pressing back against him before he realizes the dog isn’t going to be able to leap at them.

 

He lets out a shaky laugh and turns back to his lover, giving him an unsteady grin. “Okay, I get why you’re afraid of dogs. That was fucking scary. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” He slings his arm around Crane’s trembling shoulders and pulls him away from the wall, leading him further down the alley, away from the vicious barking.

 

They only make it a few more steps before there’s an even worse sound – the sound of a glass window shattering behind them. Crane’s head whips around in time to see the dog stumble through the glass it broke under its weight and right itself, shaking the glass off its fur. It has a collar and a rope tied through the window, but Crane has no idea how long that rope is. His mind is a flurry of fright, but his muscles go rigid with fear as the dog lunges at them.

 

Its rope snaps it just a couple feet short, but its shaking and tugging is already fraying the rope on the sharp broken edges of the window. Crane’s ankle suddenly gives out and he stumbles backwards with a shout of terror.

 

“Fuck- ” Lewis yells, barely grabbing Crane before he hits the ground. He hauls the other man to his feet, not paying any attention to his injuries, and almost gets hit in the face by Crane’s cast before he can get him upright. That rope isn’t going to last very long against the shards of glass that are still poking out of the window frame. The dog is going to be loose soon, and he’s not at all sure they can outrun it – well, he probably can, eventually, but Crane, with his leg? Not a chance. Frantic, Lewis casts around for any kind of escape route, but this isn’t a city on Titaniosphere, this is a vacation planet, and the buildings are short and simple and utterly lacking in fire escapes. He’s not sure Crane could climb a ladder first try anyway.

 

“Get behind me,” Lewis hisses to Crane, backing up slowly himself, his eyes focused on the dog. If they can just get out into the main street, someone can help, and if the dog does break loose and go after them… well, at least he can take some damage and let Crane get away. The dog leaps forward again, dancing against the limits of its collar, snapping at them and snarling. Lewis can’t see the rope, he can’t see how close it is to snapping. All he can do is hope they can get around the corner and into a building before it breaks.

 

Crane can’t see the dog past Lewis, but that’s probably a good thing. His heart has risen into his throat as he takes unsteady steps backwards, unwilling to look away as if his looking in the direction of the dog is the only thing keeping its rope intact.

But then all at once he hears a sickening snap, the crunch of paws on glass, a frightened gasp from Lewis, and his foot catches in a crack in the cement and he goes down hard. Pain rockets up his back and down his legs, his life flashes before his eyes - this is it. He’s about to be ripped apart by a damn dog of all things, right as he was on the cusp of an epiphany about important life choices.

 

But then he feels strong arms scoop him up and before he can make sense of what’s going on, he’s being carried at top speed, cradled against Lewis’ chest.

 

When the rope finally breaks, the dog shoots forward like a rocket, and Lewis stumbles back a step in spite of himself. He tries to stay steady, but he looks away from the dog in time to see Crane fall backwards and land hard on the concrete, and suddenly he thinks -  _This is idiotic, what, am I going to fight a fucking dog? -_  and turns to scoop up his lover in his arms, hurtling out of the alley with the dog snapping at his legs.

 

Absurdly, as he dashes down the boardwalk, he realizes he’s laughing, breathless. It’s such a stupid situation after everything they’ve been through – to be chased and legitimately threatened by a goddamn dog. It’s so ridiculous. But then there’s the hot breath of the dog on his heels, and Crane’s frightened clinging to him, and his back already hurting from supporting even Crane’s slight weight while running flat out. It’s not a joke, even though it’s got the timing of one.

 

Behind him, Lewis can hear yelling and shouts from the various other people along the street, and for the first time in his life he finds himself desperate for a cop to look his way – anyone, anything to get the snarling animal away from them. He doesn’t dare look back because he knows if he does he’ll fall, and worse, he’ll fall on Crane, and if that happens it almost doesn’t matter if the dog savages him – he’ll have re-broken his lovers ribs at the very least. All he can do is keep running, his lungs on fire and his arms wrapped tight around Crane’s body.

 

He’s either been running for less than a minute or else a short eternity when he hears a yelp behind him, and the thumping of the giant dog’s paws ceases. He doesn’t stop running right away, he carries on for several more paces until he can be sure the threat has passed, and he finally turns to see two very large men have tackled the snarling dog and pinned it on its belly.

 

Crane is shaking like a leaf, face pressed into his neck, panting like he was the one who’d just been running. His eyes are wet with tears against Lewis’ neck as he hyperventilates, nearing hysterical. All of his claws are dug into Lewis’ skin right through his clothes, and his tail is coiled firmly around the young man’s waist.

 

Lewis stumbles to a halt, gasping for air, and drops to his knees on the pavement, wincing. Now that the adrenaline’s leaving his system he’s aware of the pain of Crane’s claws in his shoulders, the people staring at them. One of the men who’s tackled the dog gets off and walks over to them, and Lewis can’t help but wrap his arm around Crane protectively.

 

“You all okay?” The man asks, and Lewis nods, still trying to catch his breath.

 

“Thanks,” He manages to say. The other man nods back and heads back over to the dog, completely nonchalant.

 

Now that the danger’s passed, all Lewis wants to do is get somewhere away from all the people looking at them, murmuring concernedly. He struggles to his feet again, keeping Crane tight against him, and ducks into another alleyway, this time making sure there’s no dogs or windows before sinking down against a brightly painted plaster wall.

 

“You’re okay, right? You’re not hurt?” He pants, trying to pry his lover’s hands off of him, letting out an involuntary whimper when Crane digs in tighter. “It’s okay, it’s gone, just… fuck, put your claws in this fucking hurts…” He’s trying to keep the note of panic out of his voice, not wanting to upset Crane any more, but at the same time, he’s becoming aware that his shoulders are on fire with pain and it’s getting harder to fight the urge to shove Crane off him.

 

Crane is insensate. At first he doesn’t even hear Lewis past the blood roaring in his tightly flattened ears. He registers his body pulling slightly away from Lewis’ and panics, clenching tighter to avoid separation. But then he hears Lewis’ groan of pain and snaps back into his senses and his claws catch a bit as they unhook from his lover’s skin and slip back into his fingers where they belong.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasps, shaking and pressing tighter to Lewis’ body. Pain flares in his ribs, but he ignores it in favor of pushing his body as close to Lewis’ as possible. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-”

 

“It’s – ah – it’s okay it’s just, you can do some damage…” Lewis winces, rubbing at his shoulder. Crane’s nails have dug into the sensitive muscles right above his collarbones, and he can feel blood soaking through the holes in his shirt. Crane’s still trembling against him and he tries to relax, wrapping his arms loosely around the smaller man.

 

“Now I don’t like dogs either,” He jokes, still trying to catch his breath and stop shaking himself. Reaching up to cradle Crane’s head against his chest sends a jolt of pain through his shoulder, but he ignores it. It’s honestly probably nothing compared to that dog’s teeth.

 

All of Crane’s instincts are demanding, pleading for safety. Somewhere they can be safe from the threats of any more damn _dogs_. He’s panting through his mouth, tongue hanging out slightly as he sags in Lewis’ arms.

 

“Beach,” he gasps. “Please takes me to the beach. I want to be alone with you- please- the beach.”

 

“Okay,” Lewis says quietly, shifting his arms around Crane again, getting ready to pick him up. “Just give me a second to get my breath back.”

 

They stay huddled in the alley for a moment and then Lewis gets to his feet, hefting Crane into his arms with a slight groan. It’s not like Crane’s heavy, but even the short terror-fueled run still has him winded and he’s glad the beach is only a block or two away. He’s also glad they left Crane’s crutches at home this particular day – there’s no way he would’ve been able to carry them and Crane at the same time.

 

By the time they get down to the beach, it’s fully dark, and Crane’s breathing has slowed slightly, although he’s still shaking against Lewis’s chest and hasn’t unwrapped his tail throughout the entire walk. The beach is utterly empty as far as they can see – Paxum shuts down early in the evenings, they’ve found, and Lewis has never been more grateful for it. He walks through the sand to just above the waterline at high tide, and sits down heavily, resting his back against a retaining wall made of dark stone, which separates the public beach from a private one. Earlier in the week, he and Crane were yelled at by a security guard for trying to climb over the wall to test out Crane’s leg, but now he figures if anyone’s going to yell at him for leaning they’ll just have to yell. He’s too tired to move any more for a while. Besides, the place looks deserted.

 

“How’re you doing?” He asks Crane, stroking back his good ear.

 

“We are _never_ getting a dog,” Crane says in a shaky attempt at humor. He feels safe now, the familiar whisper of waves washing up on sand is a comforting backdrop along with his lover’s scent no longer stained with fear, and he feels his tired muscles finally unclenching for good. “I’m sorry I scratched you,” his voice is a little stronger now and his tail drops from Lewis’ waist into the sand.

 

He wiggles in Lewis’ arms until he can shift positions and straddles Lewis’ hips so he can lean against his chest and rub his face into his lover’s neck. “I’m sorry I’m such a wimp about dogs. And... thank you. You probably saved our lives.”

 

“You’re allowed to be a wimp about dogs after that,” Lewis laughs, leaning his head back and blushing, ignoring the part about saving their lives. It was definitely more the two guys who’d tackled the dog than him doing the saving, but still.

 

He tightens his arms just a little around Crane’s waist, savoring the familiar nuzzling against his neck. He sometimes thinks he prefers this to any other way Crane touches him – the comfort of it, the sweetness of being claimed by his lover is still something he’s never experienced before he met Crane.

 

“You are okay, though, right? I saw you fall.”

 

“I’m in a little pain... but I’m okay. Better than I would have been if the dog got me,” he gives a breathy, almost whimpering laugh as he forces himself not to think about how poorly that situation could have gone. He doesn’t remember whose idea it was to take the shortcut through the alley and he’d rather not. He doesn’t want to blame either of them for what happened.

 

He sits up and his pupils blow wide in the starlight, soaking in all the light they can and he can see Lewis clearly. His night vision is, as expected, spectacular. There’s something almost ethereal about Lewis in the white glow of the moon and stars, otherworldly and beautiful. Crane was wrong, _this_ moment is the most he’s ever loved Lewis.

 

Of course, as time carries on, he’s fairly sure he’ll continue to think every moment of his life is the most he’s ever loved Lewis, until the next moment comes, and the next, and he’ll continue to think that for as long as Lewis is in his life. Faced with the sudden thought of what his life might be like without Lewis in it, his chest clenches painfully and he buries his face back in his lover’s neck before he can get emotional.

 

“Thank you for being mine,” he whispers, licking Lewis’ ear and nuzzling his jaw.

 

A slow, contented smile spreads across Lewis’s face, and he shifts a little in the sand to let Crane get at his neck better, resting his head on his lover’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s,” He murmurs, blushing slightly. He loves the way Crane’s eyes glint green in the dark when he looks up at him, the way his tattooed arms twine around his body. “I love you so much.”

 

Lewis leans down to kiss Crane gently, and then settles back against the retaining wall, resting his head against it as he looks up at the night sky. It’s so bright, away from city lights. The stars arch over the ocean like swarms of fireflies, giving off enough light for even Lewis to see a little bit.

 

“You know, I don’t recognize any of these stars.” Lewis says quietly, stroking the back of Crane’s neck. “But I love being under them with you.”

 

Crane sits back again and looks straight up, scanning the skies for anything he might recognize. “I know a little bit about stars,” he says, his ears swiveling as if they’ll help him see somehow. “I have to, to do my job. Can’t always rely on GPS, if it goes out in deep space and you don’t know where you’re going... well, that might not be a problem for me anymore given my new cruiser can drive for 15 years, but still.”

 

He points up, closing one eye and indicating a very bright star that is slightly tinted pink. “That’s Titaniosphere,” he says confidently. “Home is all the way over there. God, what I’d give to never have to go back...”

 

Lewis nods, throat suddenly tight. He loves their apartment on Titaniosphere, his work, the now-familiar streets; but he loves them because Crane is there. And he’d give it all up in a heartbeat if Crane were free and safe. Silently, he takes Crane’s hand, resting his head against his cheek.

 

Crane arches back again and starts following familiar lines in the sky, using Titaniosphere as a reference, and points out a few other stars he recognizes. Lewis always catches him if he arches over too far backwards, keeping him from hitting the sand behind him. He points out other planets he can see and a few constellations he can identify. They see a shooting star streak across the sky and Crane claps his hands over Lewis’ eyes, claiming he saw it first and he gets to wish on it.

 

Privately, he wishes they could stay exactly like this, forever. Safe and warm and comfortable and happy. But, barring that, he just wishes on that star with all his might that he can have Lewis forever. No matter where they are or what trouble they get into or how far across the galaxies they travel, he wishes with every cell in his body that Lewis will always be with him.

 

They linger on the beach for another hour, talking quietly, cuddling together on the sand, gazing up into the night sky. Finally it’s late enough that they have to head back to the cabin. Crane walks on his own, although he’s leaning heavily on Lewis by the time they get to the back porch.

 

Once they’re inside, Lewis pulls off his bloody shirt, his breath hissing through his teeth as he raises his arms above his head. He tosses the shirt in the garbage – there’s enough holes that there’s no point keeping it, even if he can get the blood out, and it wasn’t one of his favorites anyway. “Do you think your leg antibiotic is good for these?” He asks Crane. He really doesn’t want to have to try and find an open drugstore at this time of night.

 

Crane clicks his tongue apologetically and limps over to Lewis. The punctures are small, but undoubtedly painful. He knows from experience how much cat scratches hurt. “God, I’m sorry,” he tuts, guiding Lewis over to the bed. “Let me. You can put the ointment on after.”

 

“Let you what?” Lewis sits and watches Crane pull off his foot so he can crawl up onto the bed behind him.

 

“Feline saliva is a natural antiseptic. Hold still,” Crane holds Lewis’ biceps to keep him still and facing forward and starts to lick over the wounds. They aren’t bleeding too badly, it seems like they stopped quite some time ago, but he knows they’ll hurt for a while and they’re prone to infection. He washes his tongue over the pricks, cleaning and scrubbing away any dried blood or debris in the cuts, already purring within seconds.

 

Lewis blushes, smiling faintly at the feeling of Crane’s tongue on his skin. He lets out a happy sigh as Crane cleans his cuts, soothing them, his chest rumbling against Lewis’s. Gently, Lewis scratches behind his lover’s good ear, remembering the first night they met. He wonders if he first fell in love with Crane that night in the bed together, when Crane groomed his face and hair with such unexpected tenderness.

 

He leans over to kiss Crane on the temple, and grins when his lover purrs louder, leaning against him. They sink onto the bed together, falling into each other’s arms. They fall asleep holding each other gently, after making love, and for once, neither of them can remember any nightmares the next morning.


	45. Chapter 45

“Are you sure?”

 

“I’m absolutely sure, Lewis. It’s just for a couple hours, I’ll be fine,” Crane says as he packs sun screen and a light jacket in his backpack.

 

“I could meet up with you. Or if you wait I can come with you.”

 

“ _Lewis_ ,” Crane scolds, zipping his backpack up and shrugging it over his shoulders. “I need to be able to fend for myself. You clean the cabin, and I’ll be back in a few hours. I’ll just get in the way if I stay here. I’ll have my comm on me, it’ll be okay.”

 

He kisses his distressed lover on the forehead and limps out the door. The trek across the sand is hairy, as usual, but as soon as he’s on solid ground he’s walking confidently. Lewis had insisted on cleaning the cabin from top to bottom, and for the first couple minutes Crane had been determined to help, but all it took was one misstep on the mopped floor and he nearly suffered a hard tumble down the couple steps into the lowered kitchen area. After that he knocked over and broke something with his tail and somehow snapped a broom by stepping on it, and declared he was too hazardous to help clean and elected to take a walk by himself.

 

It’s charming that Lewis is so worried about his safety, but it’s a nice cloudless day and Crane needs to experience what it’s like to walk without someone there to lean on if he gets tired. He wanders into town and weaves between shops, buying himself a snack and a pair of toeless socks for when he paws - paw - gets cold. He notes with a smile that this pair of socks will last him twice as long.

 

Passing by a dark shop, his own pale white reflection cast over the glass catches his eye. A black velvet curtain behind the glass makes him stand out like a beacon, and he frowns at the sight of himself. He’s littered with bruises and scars, scattered over his skin like gruesome constellations of abuse. His tattoos are barely noticeable past all the trauma. Save for one big ugly white spot right over his heart, a spot he’s been saving purposefully for years.

 

He looks up to see what window he’s stopped in front of, and sees the hand-painted sign of what is undeniably a tattoo shop. Like a bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and hit him, he’s struck with the sudden and inescapable feeling of fate. Everything has aligned perfectly in this exact moment, and he doesn’t waste time thinking or weighing options before he pushes open the door.

 

Lewis has to admit it’s a lot easier cleaning out the cabin without Crane clattering around behind him, and the constant nervousness that Crane will fall on the living room floor. Although now that nervousness extends to the entire planet rather than just the living room. Still, he pushes the thought out of his mind, concentrating on wiping down the counters and cleaning out the oven. It’s not like they’ve made a big mess out of the cabin, but they’re coming up on the end of their stay – only a few days left – and Lewis wants to leave the place in good condition. It was a good vacation home for them.

 

The fact that he’s already thinking of the trip in past tense sends a twinge of sadness and fear down his spine. They’ve been really, genuinely happy here, without the constant looming presence of Titanium and Crane’s work and Lewis’s lingering fugitive status. It hasn’t been perfect, of course, but returning to Titaniosphere is going to be hard. Lewis shakes his head and scrubs vigorously at the inside of the oven. They’ve still got some time left.

 

Years of food service have left him a pretty efficient cleaner, and Lewis finishes the cabin before Crane’s returned from his walk. He tries to lose himself in his book, but he finds himself looking up at the door every few minutes, checking the clock, checking his comm, expecting at any minute to get a call that Crane’s fallen and re-broken his ribs, or worse. He tells himself not to be stupid – Crane’s getting to be really solid on his feet, he only slipped earlier because the floor was wet – but it doesn’t do anything to stop the threads of worry weaving around him. By mid-afternoon, he’s abandoned the book entirely and is sitting at the kitchen counter, fiddling aimlessly with a set of teaspoons and trying to keep himself from pacing.

 

When he hears the front door open, he almost topples his chair backwards in his rush to get out of it and greet his lover. But the sight that greets him makes him stop dead in his tracks. Crane is shrugging off his backpack, looking slightly sunburned, but what makes Lewis’ stomach sink is the bandage strapped over the middle of his chest.

 

“Hey, you up for going out to dinner?” Crane says, not even addressing the bandage as he smiles at his boyfriend. “I’m not quite done walking around yet. The cabin looks great, by the way.”

 

“What happened?” Lewis demands, pointing at the bandage. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?” He’s torn between fear and love and disappointment. Crane had promised not to hide things from him anymore. After Vitessence, Lewis is determined not to lose his temper or jump to conclusions. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt and scared.

 

“Whoa, whoa, Lewis,” Crane laughs, holding up his hands in defense. “It’s okay. I’m not hurt. I wanted it to be a surprise. Look, follow me.”

 

He beckons a nervous Lewis into the bathroom with him, where the light is concentrated. He hops up on the counter beside the twin sinks and carefully peels the tape holding his bandage in place so he can take it away without sacrificing the stickiness of it.

 

“I don’t know if you’ve ever seen what a tattoo looks like right after it’s done, but it’s not the prettiest,” he explains as he pries the last of the tape off. “But it’ll be nice when it heals.”

 

With the bandage off, he reveals a somewhat shiny tattoo on a very red patch of skin, of a black ram’s head topped with golden curls and shining blue eyes. It’s intricately shaded, with more golden curls along the angle of its jaw and beneath its chin, its horns a beautiful spiral around tufted black ears.

 

Crane smiles proudly at an awestruck Lewis, puffing his chest out so its totally visible in the bathroom lights. He’s been saving the spot over his heart for a very long time now, but he knows that he made the right choice. His heart always seemed like a very special place, too special to just put any old design. That spot is for Lewis. It’s always been for Lewis. He’s spent his entire life waiting for Lewis.

 

It’s like floating, the feeling that comes over Lewis when he sees the tattoo. He covers his mouth with his hands, staring, barely able to breathe. Slowly, he raises his eyes from the ram on Crane’s chest to Crane’s beaming face.

 

“That’s… for me?” he whispers, and Crane nods.

 

Lewis blushes hotly, reaching out towards the shiny colorful skin on Crane’s chest, his fingers hovering over the design. He can’t believe it.

 

“You really – ” He breaks off, a slow smile spreading over his reddened face. Blinking away tears of happiness, Lewis takes Crane’s hands in his own, still staring down at the tattoo. “Wow,” He mumbles inadequately. His heart feels like it’s about to pop, it’s so filled with love and wonder and joy. No one has ever loved him like this before. And he’s never felt such love for another.

 

Crane’s cheeks hurt he’s smiling so widely. He squeezes Lewis’ hands and leans forward to bump his nose affectionately against his lover’s hairline. “I’ve waited a long time to fill this spot,” he whispers against Lewis’ forehead, purring softly. “I know in my heart- on my heart- that I made the right choice. About the tattoo... about you. You’re the best choice I ever made, and I want to be with you forever.”

 

Lifting his head, Lewis kisses Crane passionately, breaking away to stare into his lover’s deep green eyes. “Me too. I can’t believe… I’m so fucking happy I met you. I love you so much.” He says quietly, unwilling to let go of Crane’s hands to swipe at the corners of his eyes. So he’s crying a little. It’s fine. Crane’s seen him cry. Crane will know what his tears mean.

 

Crane’s heart flutters. “You too?” he echoes. “You want to be with me forever?”

 

He feels like he’s going to shake apart with excitement. This is the first real mention of commitment Lewis has made. He knows they haven’t been together for too long - it’s only been about eight months - but he knows he’s never going to find another relationship like Lewis. He knows because he’s spent forty years already waiting for it. He’s never felt more sure about a decision in his entire life. After all, he’s already permanently branded himself with everything Lewis means to him over his heart.

 

“Then lets do it,” he says, his voice shaking a little. “There’s nothing stopping us. We could just... get married.”

 

As the words leave Crane’s mouth, Lewis’s heart gives a sickening lurch. His smile falters and he watches as Crane’s does in turn.

 

“You – you’re serious?” He stammers, even though he can see the answer plain as day on his lover’s face. “I – I love you but… that’s….” His hands tighten on Crane’s. He’s struggling to explain the love and panic roaring through him, struggling to find the words to take that look of hurt off Crane’s face.

 

“Crane, I love you more than anything but I’m not... I mean, it’s still so soon… look, can we talk about this not in the bathroom, I need to sit down, I’m sorry…” Ducking his head, Lewis tries to swallow the confusing tangle of his emotions, but it sticks in his throat. He can’t look up, he doesn’t dare look up at Crane’s expression.

 

Crane’s heart sinks into his stomach and suddenly Lewis’ hands feel too tight and too hot around his. He tugs them away, back into his lap. “Yeah, just... I’ve got to put my bandage back. I’ll meet you out in the main room.”

 

He shoos Lewis away and quickly closes the door behind him, slumping against the wood. His heart is pounding sickeningly in his chest, right under the place where he just branded himself in honor of Lewis. In honor of the man who “loves him, but.” Has he made a mistake?

 

Limping to the mirror, he looks himself over with a frown, staring at the tattoo. He was so sure... it felt so right. He’s always longed for the deep, fortified connection of marriage, but resigned himself to the fact that he’d never have it. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. He might as well get this over with, get the bandage back on so he can go hear Lewis justify why he doesn’t want to be married to him. He sticks it back in place and holds his chin high as he walks out of the bathroom. Best case scenario, he can just redact his statement and they can pretend it never happened.

 

As soon as Crane shuts the bathroom door, Lewis slumps. He swipes angrily at his eyes, running his hand roughly through his hair, hating himself utterly. He’d been trying so fucking hard to be better, to be patient and kind and mature and dedicated, articulate and open, all the things Crane deserves, all the things he knows in his heart he isn’t. And it’s lasted six or seven wonderful days and now here he is, hurting Crane again when the last thing he wants in this world is to hurt him.

 

He sinks down on the couch, holding his head in his hands, trying to sort out the whirlwind of emotions hurtling around him. He’s not scared because he doesn’t love Crane, he knows that at least – he hasn’t the slightest doubt he’ll love him for the rest of his life. But he’s so young, he’s not even 22, and Crane is so much older and wiser and better, and he can’t possibly imagine lasting more than a year without fucking up so bad Crane will have to leave him. And when it happens, if they’re married, it’ll be that much harder… and then there’s the ever-present shadow of Titanium, stretching across space to touch them even here. And what the hell could he ever know about being married anyway? All he has for touchstones are his parents, bitterly divorced, his first boyfriend’s brawling parents, and the cruel uncaring partnership of his mother and Cynda’s father. He wouldn’t know the first thing about being a loving spouse. He can’t even be a good boyfriend.

 

When the bathroom door clicks open, he raises his head and blurts out “I still meant it. I want to be with you as long as you want me.”

 

Crane almost stumbles, the statement is so sudden. He sags a little bit, some of his confidence oozing out of him. He looks down at his feet with a sigh. “Well, I want you forever. So why does that bar marriage? Do you not want to be married to me?” he doesn’t want to sound accusing, but he doubts he could soften his voice much right now.

 

Lewis stares back down at the floor again, clenching his fists.

 

“It’s not… I’m scared.” He mumbles, eyes filling with unwelcome tears. “Not of you. Never of you. But there’s so many reasons. I hate them all but…” Shaking his head, Lewis tries to get his thoughts in order. “What if Titanium finds out you’re married to his fucking escaped pet? He’ll kill you.”

 

“We’d only legally be registered as married on this planet,” Crane says, not lifting his head. “Most people pick a planet and stick on it, there’s no universal marriage license. We wouldn’t be registered on Titaniosphere - technically you’re not even a citizen of Titaniosphere so we _couldn’t_ get registered there. This planet’s an exception because it’s classified as a tourist planet. People come to places like this for marriage-honeymoon combos a lot.”

 

It sounds dumb to his own ears. It sounds like Lewis is reaching for reasons, and Crane’s face burns hotly with embarrassment. “Just, forget I said anything. I’m just being stupid, don’t take me seriously.”

 

“No, please, just listen to me, I love you,” Lewis raises his head slightly, heart breaking at Crane’s denial. He knows his lover was serious. After eight months he can tell when he’s hurting him, even if he can’t figure out how to make it better.

 

Crane’s staring down at the ground, same as he is, and Lewis ducks his head again, wincing away from the hurt still visible on Crane’s face. He has to make him understand. Even if that means talking about things he hasn’t been able to bring up before.

 

“Crane…” He says, heart aching, voice catching. This can’t be happening again. He can’t be hurting Crane again so soon.

 

“It’s fine,” Crane takes a step back, still not looking up. He’s not sure where he’s going, he just wants to put a little distance between them. “I get it, you’re young. You don’t want to be tied down. You might meet someone better, you’ve got a lot of life left to live. A lot more than I do. I’m ready for something like this and you aren’t... it’s fine.”

 

“It’s not that,” Lewis snaps, shaking his head vehemently. “I already know there’s nobody better than you. There’s no one I’m going to love as much as you.”

 

He takes a deep breath, forcing the words out.“I don’t know what a good marriage is, okay? My mom left when I was five because she was sick of taking care of my dad and me. She remarried a man who spent 18 years trying to beat my sister to death and she stayed with him for those 18 years and ignored it completely. She barely remembered my fucking name. My dad ignored everyone around him that wasn’t a fucking army vet or buying him a drink. I don’t even fucking blame her for leaving. Marriage is what you do to trap someone, and then they leave anyway. Marriage is when you lie about how good your lover is. Marriage is what happens when you want someone to hit, or when you want to hit someone else.” He’s talking faster and faster – now that he’s opened the gates it’s like a flood of words pouring out of his mouth, choking him. He can’t keep up.

 

“I won’t be a good husband, I won’t be any better than I am now, I’m stupid and I keep fucking up and you’re right I’m so fucking young and immature… and if we’re married… if you want to leave it’ll be harder…”

 

Crane listens impassively, his heart breaking. He looks up at Lewis for a moment before leaning back against the wall behind him so he can take some of the weight off his ankle. “You think I had a better model of marriage? My parents were _cousins_ for crying out loud. Their wedding was a business deal. But I don’t need everyone around to me to have a good marriage to know that good marriages are possible. Our relationship is... a little rocky sometimes, but I already decided a long time ago that barring your death, no matter what happened I wasn’t going to let you go. That’s why I went after you even when I thought you... left me for Yasu.”

 

Lewis barely manages to keep himself from flinching at Yasu’s name. He hunches his shoulders, taking a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.

 

“I love you,” He says tenuously, trying to list the things he knows objectively are true. “You’re trustworthy, even if I’m… if I’m not good at trusting. I want you to be happy and I want to be with you. And I’m scared out of my skull I won’t be able to give you both. That’s why.” He finally manages to raise his head, peeking up at Crane through his hair, still unable to look at his lover directly.

 

“Just nevermind,” Crane shakes his head and looks off to the side, avoiding Lewis’ eyes as much as possible and he speaks without any emotion in his voice. “Pretend I didn’t say anything. It’s all fine, it was just a silly suggestion. It didn’t mean anything.”

 

“I’m not saying no!” Lewis almost shouts, ignoring the sudden stabbing thought that Crane really didn’t mean anything by the proposal, casual as it was. He knows that’s not true. He squeezes his eyes shut, working to calm down. In a quieter voice he repeats, “I’m not – I’m never going to say no. I just need more time… please believe me.”

 

“Take all the time you need. I’m going to take a bath,” Crane takes another step back and then turns and closes the bathroom door behind him. He collapses back against the door and covers his face with both hands. He’d been so sure... but now he’s pretty sure he’s never regretted something so much. Now that Lewis knows Crane would marry him, he might feel trapped. Young people have such a terrible view of marriage- he remembers when he was young, he thought it was a waste of time, too. Lewis must feel the same way. Sometimes Crane forgets how incredibly young his lover is. He slides down to the floor, fighting tears as he draws his knees to his chest, which gives an ache- both from his ribs, and the tender skin where he just marked himself for the man he might have just chased away.

 

In the living room, Lewis closes his eyes, resting his head in his hands. He’s so tired of ruining things. He sits alone for a moment, listening to the silence of the cabin as Crane doesn’t even pretend to turn the bathroom faucet on. All he wants to do is make things right, but he doesn’t know how, and anything more he can do will probably only make things worse.

 

Finally he gets to his feet, slowly, and writes out a note for Crane – “going for a walk. I love you, I’m sorry. I’m coming back. Not leaving. ” He underlines the last two phrases twice and slips the small scrap of paper under the bathroom door, turning away before he can see if Crane grabs it or not. He’s too cowardly to talk out loud, and the lack of response is almost a relief as he slides open the back door of the cabin, closing it as quietly as he can, and heads down towards the beach, shoulders hunched protectively.

 

He tries to outwalk his confusion and guilt, but it’s right there with him, tapping him on the shoulder. If he can’t accept a proposal with grace, if he alienates Crane as soon as he’s asked, how’s he supposed to follow that proposal? But he wants to, that’s the real hell of it – he wants to spend the rest of his life with Crane. There’s no other option. The idea of a life without him feels like a cold empty wasteland. But he’s still so stupidly scared.

 

Lost in thought, he wanders out across the beach, lit by the hot glow of mid-afternoon. He doesn’t really have a destination in mind, and he’s not even sure what he’s thinking about. Trying to find reasons why he should marry Crane? He’s got thousands. And they’re battling with... not exactly reasons _not_ to, but fears and hesitations- most of which have to do with Crane’s safety and emotional wellbeing.

 

He stops and looks up at the people around him. Families leaving the beach together, hand in hand, parents swinging their children between them and young couples wrapped around one another walking down the sandy strip, people packing up picnics and getting ready to go home to their families, new and old. It makes his heart ache for the cat he left sitting in a bathroom who just marked himself for eternity for _him_.

 

Wandering in no particular direction, he spots a couple, but they’re not like the rest of the people on the beach. They’re both very old, in their eighties at least, and dressed like they were just married. Her dress is modest, but the veil in her wispy white hair is unmistakable as the suit he wears. They’re just sitting on a bench, smiling out at the sunset, looking like the happiest people in the world. In any other circumstance, Lewis leave them to their happiness, but it’s too much of a coincidence, it hits too close to home.

 

“Scuse me.” He says quietly, coming up next to the old couple. “I hope it’s not rude, but I just wanted to say… congratulations.”

 

They give him matching smiles, full of radiant joy that almost hurts to look at. “Thank you, honey,” The woman says, her voice tiny and frail. “What’s your name?”

 

“Lewis,” he mutters, scuffing the sand with his shoe. “You?”

 

“Leonard,” the man introduces himself and looks over at her, patting her wrinkled hand, and Lewis’s heart aches at the look on his face – he looks like he’s gazing over at the rarest treasure in the world. “And this is my wife, Pearl.”

 

“You just got married?” Lewis asks.

 

“Heavens no,” Leonard laughs. “75 years today,” He turns to Lewis, nodding. “She’s still as beautiful as the day is long, isn’t she?”

 

“Stop, you old charmer.” Pearl laughs, nudging her husband with her elbow. “You just can’t see anymore,” She turns to Lewis too, retaking her husband’s hand. “Don’t take any mind of him. He’s been saying the same thing since I was 19 and he was 23.”

 

Leonard chuckles as well, folding his arthritic fingers around his wife’s. “And every single time it’s been true. From the first vows up til today.”

 

Lewis nods, unsure of how to respond. They must be renewing their vows, all dressed up like they’re getting married for the first time. 19 and 23, the woman had said. She was even younger than him when she said yes. And they were still together on the beach, holding hands, 75 years later.

 

“Are you married?” Pearl asks in her little voice, and Lewis’ heart clenches up in his chest.

 

“No, but…” He shakes his head. Definitely not something he wants to explain to this nice old couple. “No.”

 

“Bet he’s got a sweetheart, handsome young man like him.” Pearl gives Lewis a wink, and he laughs in spite of himself.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

“You intend to marry her, son?” Leonard asks in a gentle tone. “There’s really nothing like marriage. Always having someone to rely on. Someone to protect and live for, who protects and lives for you. It’s _hard_ work, but it’s teamwork, do you never have to carry the burden alone.”

 

“I… I want to. I just don’t know if I’m someone he can rely on like I rely on him,” Lewis admits, unhappy enough about the situation to be honest, not just about his fears but about the fact that his “sweetheart” is male. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes what he’s said, but the couple doesn’t seem to have any reaction. Well, this isn’t Earth after all.

 

Pearl laughs a tired old laugh. “If you want to, your heart’s already in the right place. Marriage isn’t about being perfect, it’s about trying your best. Even when you’re scared or angry or sad. You don’t have to be flawless, you just have to be... good. And you’re good, I can tell.”

 

“How?” Lewis’ throat clenches.

 

She clicks her tongue. “Because people who aren’t good don’t worry about other people as much as you are. You’re good because you want to be.”

 

“Being good isn’t about being the best, m’boy,” the old man adds with a smile. “It’s about trying to be good, even when being bad is easy.”

 

Lewis blushes, embarrassed, even though he isn’t sure he believes them. It seems to come naturally to Crane, being good – he only gets angry when provoked, he offers forgiveness as easily as he offers comfort. But for Lewis, it’s a struggle, and half the time he ends up being taken care of by Crane when it should be the other way around.

 

But he does try, he is trying. And he still can’t think of a world where he isn’t at Crane’s side – even the idea of it sends a cold spike of loneliness through his heart. And isn’t that what marriage is, just a legalized promise to be together forever? It’s a promise he’s already made in his heart – in some ways, it’s a promise he made when Crane gave him the key to his apartment months ago. It’s just deepened since then.

 

He realizes he’s been quiet for a long time, lost in thought, and clears his throat, turning back to the couple. “Thank you. I… I think you cleared some things up for me. And congratulations again.”

 

“Oh! You’re welcome!” the couple laughs softly as Lewis turns on his heel and rushes back up the beach. 


	46. Chapter 46

This damn leg. Crane wishes he could throw it against a wall to release some of the bitter resentment he holds for this damn piece of plastic, but it was expensive. Throwing the sock isn’t nearly as satisfying.

 

Sitting on the bed in nothing but an oversized tank top, he folds his left ankle over his right thigh, staring at the folded skin at the bottom of his limb with a deep frown. All of his fears about the future are contained in those few sutures. Not even just his future with Titanium, but his future with Lewis.

 

Lewis is a young man, fit and strong and active who wants to do things. Crane might not be able to keep up. Maybe it’s not fair for Lewis for him to be with Lewis. It’s a terrifying thought, not being with Lewis, but he’d do anything for his lover. Even if that means not _being_ his lover.

 

He won’t make any rash decisions just yet. He’ll need a while to think about it. He hops over to his sock with a sigh and yanks it over his ankle so he can shove his bruised limb back into his prosthetic.

 

Lewis cracks the front door open slowly, almost stealthily. He’s nervous in spite of himself, even though he knows he’s being stupid. Peeking around the corner, he sees Crane sitting on the edge of the couch, jamming on his prosthetic, and lets out an involuntary sigh of relief. Crane isn’t gone.

 

“Hi,” He says quietly, shutting the door behind him, unsure of what reaction he’s going to get. “I’m back.”

 

Crane had heard the front door open, but it still startled him when Lewis spoke, and he flinches. He looks at the man out of the corner of his eye, but it hurts to see him. “Welcome back,” he says coolly- or at least he tries to sound cool, but he’s pretty sure it just came out sad. He stares down at his feet bitterly, twisting his left ankle back and forth in semi-circles. “You don’t have to talk to me,” he says before he can think of a way to word it better. “Since you’re not- you don’t like talking.”

 

That stings – that stings a hell of a lot – but Lewis tries to take it in stride. He’s trying to make things better.

 

“Look, Crane… I’m sorry. About everything.” He crosses the room slowly, feeling like he’s walking through molasses. He’s still scared, still sure he’s going to fuck up, but at the same time he’s never been so sure about anything in his entire life. Dropping to his knees in front of Crane’s bowed head, he takes his lover’s hands in his, looking up at him.

 

“I love you,” He says softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d love you forever. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life, I just didn’t know it.”

 

He reaches into the front pocket of his jeans, fingers closing around smooth plastic. When he saw the capsule machine on his way back to the cabin, he’d been unable to resist – it was so ridiculously fortuitous, so perfect. And even though he knows he owes Crane better, they’ve never gotten things exactly right on the first try. He digs out the small plastic capsule, which contains a cheap nickel ring adorned with a dark blue rhinestone, pressing it into Crane’s hand, holding his breath.

 

“I’ll get a real ring later, I swear to god, but for now… Hannibal Crane, will you marry me?”

 

Crane is pretty sure the planet stopped spinning. Or his heart stopped beating. Or maybe there was a catastrophic star explosion and the whole planet was incinerated and now he’s in heaven. But that’s ridiculous, because there’s no way he’s going to heaven when he dies. He can’t breathe, he can’t blink, he can’t even move.

 

He stares down at the capsule in his hands, unable to even close his fingers enough to pop it open and take the ring out. Of all the things he was expecting, this wasn’t remotely close to even breaching the realm of possibilities. Slowly, his face crumples and fat tears roll down his cheeks.

 

“Lewis,” he whispers, half-laughing through his tears. “I’m not wearing _pants_.”

 

“That’s a yes?” Lewis says, choking on suppressed laughter and sobs. “Please say that’s a yes.”

 

Crane nods desperately, finally popping open the capsule so he can take out the ring. It’s from a child’s gumball machine, so it won’t fit over his ring finger, but he manages to slip it over his pinkie finger and he admires it on his hand. “Yes,” he breathes. “Holy crap, yes. We should- right now, we should go _right now._ Er... let me put on pants first.”

 

“Please,” Lewis manages to say before exploding into laughter. He’s still clinging to Crane’s hand, kneeling in front of him, doubled over hysterically, happier than he’s ever been in his life. He’s going to get fucking married. He’s going to marry the man he loves. He’s going to be Crane’s husband. It feels unreal and yet so absolutely, transcendentally right.

 

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry I didn’t say yes right away,” He gasps, trying to get himself under control. “I should’ve… it’s so obvious. I just want you. I just love you.”

 

Crane leans down to kiss Lewis’ head before shoving him off so he can find pants. “I hope we don’t have any problems accessing your birth certificate back on Earth,” he babbles, sitting on the edge of the bed so he can shuck his prosthetic and pull pants on. “Oh, crap, should we wear formal wear? I didn’t bring formal wear. Do we want better rings? I don’t need a better ring I love this one, but you need a ring. God, how are we going to combine our names? Can I take your name? I want your name.”

 

Lewis is still reeling from what he’s just done, and he has to lean back against the couch and take a deep breath before he can answer the flood of questions. He’s watching Crane hop around frenetically, tugging on short pants and pulling on his prosthetic again.

 

“I don’t give a damn about clothes or rings or any of that. We can figure out rings later.” He finally says, still trying to stifle the laughter rising up his throat. “Birth certificate might be a problem, though, because I haven’t talked to my parents in years and I… I don’t even know if they kept it... fuck, is that going to… do we need that? I don’t know if I can find it…”

 

It takes him a moment to get to Crane’s last statement, and when he processes it he blushes deeply, interrupting Crane before he can say anything about birth certificates.

 

“You really… you want my last name?”

 

“I absolutely want your last name,” Crane says breathlessly, finally mashing his foot back on. “I don’t want to be a Crane, are you kidding me? I’ve been a Crane for forty years, and it sucks. I’m ready to be a Black for the rest of my life. Non-negotiable, I’ll fight you for it.”

 

He stands up and wobbles a bit, whirling his fists in a mock fighting pose. “As for your birth certificate, it won’t be a problem. On planets like this, they access them electronically. Unless your parents were weird woods hicks who made sure their kid was never “registered by the system” it shouldn’t give us much trouble. The only problem might be the distance- we’re really far away from Earth. But I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

 

“My parents weren’t weird woods hicks, just normal hicks,” Lewis says automatically, barely even thinking about the words coming out of his mouth. He’s still in a haze of happiness and disbelief. He’s staring at Crane like he’s never seen him before in his life, taking in every inch of him – the bright tattoos along his muscular white bruised arms, his wrinkled solemn face, his large ears, one of which is still marked by dark stitches, his skinny frame that ends in one long leg and one sickle blade prosthetic. This is the man that’s going to be his husband. This is the man he’s about to marry.

 

“I’m going to have to stop calling you Crane,” Lewis blurts out. “And Hannibal still feels so fucking weird to me. No offense.”

 

Crane beams and laughs. “So give me a nickname. Anything would be better than Hannibal,” he says, standing up to look himself over in the mirror over the dresser. He grimaces at the ugly cast on his arm, but there’s no helping it. He’d rather be married bruised and scarred and in a cast than not married at all. He hisses in pain as he fingers at the stitches in his ear, but there’s no helping them. “I need to put on a better shirt,” he frowns down at the slightly bleach stained black tank top, and starts to dig through their drawers to find something a little more appropriate.

 

Lewis considers it seriously while Crane sets about finding a proper shirt. He doesn’t feel comfortable with calling him Billy – that’s Barty’s nickname, set in place before he ever met Crane, and he’d feel strange saying it. He runs through the possibilities and speaks up as Crane straightens up again.

 

“Hanna? Is that… is that okay? I mean… look, honestly, unless you hate it, I might still just call you Crane a lot of the time. I’m used to calling you that. But if you don’t like it… is Hanna okay?”

 

Crane tilts his head thoughtfully as he tugs his tank top off and fluffs out a crisp white vee-neck tee. “Hanna... bull. I guess it makes sense.” He tugs the shirt down over his ears, grimacing when the collar catches on his ear. “Hanna. I... I like it. I like it a lot. Nobody’s ever called me that before. Who knew my name could make so many nicknames.”

 

He turns to face Lewis with a wide, goofy smile as he shoves his arms through the short sleeves, struggling for a moment with his cast before he pulls the tight tee down over his chest. “Hanna Black. You know people are going to think I’m your wife.”

 

“I don’t mind correcting them,” Lewis says, grinning. He rises and makes his way over to Crane (Hannibal, he has to start thinking of him as just Hannibal now), twining his arms around his neck from behind. “I’m proud to be with you.”

 

Crane’s grin mirrors Lewis and he turns around in his embrace, until he looks down at his bermuda shorts and goofy Hawaiian shirt, and it turns more into a grimace. “Maybe change your shirt?” he suggests with a laugh. “I’ll make a couple calls to get our birth certificates ready to be beamed, so we don’t have to wait at city hall in town. Wash your face and meet me outside in 20 minutes?”

 

“Fuck off, I was gonna change,” Lewis laughs, blushing for probably the thousandth time this evening. Still, he draws away and roots through his luggage for some decent clothes. The whole time he’s picking out a nice pair of dark blue jeans and a white linen button-down shirt (the most formal thing he owns, probably), he’s floating on a wave of disbelief and joy. He’s still trying to get himself to believe that this is happening. He’s going to get married. The phrase keeps running through his head - _I’m getting married_ \- like the more he says it to himself the realer it will be. It’s happening so fast, but his fear and anxiety is buried under a tidal wave of love and certainty that this is a good move.

 

It still feels unreal, but it feels good, safe, right . And when he closes the door of the cabin behind him, locking it conscientiously, he feels a bright thrill run down his spine at the sight of Crane waiting for him next to the cruiser.

 

Crane was looking out across the sand, a reverent expression on his face that melts into bliss when he looks over at Lewis. “Ready to go?” his voice is shaking a little, but not with nerves- with joy.

 

They giggle like children all the way to the courthouse and Lewis barely parks all the way before Crane is leaping out of his seat and rushing to the front door. They have to stop themselves from talking over one another as they ask for a civil ceremony and marriage licenses, and the woman behind the counter is very pleased to find out that they already had their birth certificates on hold to be transferred from their home planets. She approves them both and tells them it’ll be a short wait, and they take a seat on a very uncomfortable oak bench.

 

“This is happening,” Crane whispers as they sit side by side, waiting to be called into one of the courtrooms to be married.

 

“You have witnesses, right?” the woman behind the front counter asks, breaking their reverie.

 

“Witnesses?” Crane looks over.

 

“You need at least one witness over 18 years of age,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “You can probably just grab someone off the street. I see it a lot. People are surprisingly willing to stop what they’re doing to witness a wedding.”

 

“Shit,” Lewis says, standing. “I’ll take care of it, give me a second.” He heads outside again, leaving Crane on the bench before his lover has a chance to say anything. He’s not sure how exactly to go about this – it seems weird to stop a random stranger on the street and ask if they want to witness a wedding, and he has no idea how long the ceremony will be anyway. Probably not more than twenty minutes, but still.

 

The street outside the courthouse isn’t busy at this time of evening; most people are eating dinner at this hour, not getting ready to commit to someone for life. Once again, Lewis wonders what the hell he’s doing, but he shoves the thought out of his mind. And as if to affirm that this is the right choice, he spots two familiar faces on their way up from the beach. For the third time this evening, Lewis wonders if there’s some kind of guiding hand pushing him into Crane’s arms. It seems like too much for coincidence.

 

“Hi, um, excuse me?” Lewis says, rushing up to the old couple. “I, uh, I really appreciated what you said on the beach, and… I was wondering if you could do me another favor.”

 

Leonard and Pearl look surprised to see the young man again, but smile fondly at his breathless, nervous smile. “You look like you’re glowing,” Pearl comments before Lewis can say anything else, her eyes wrinkling with a grin.

 

“What can we do for you, son?” Leonard’s arm is linked with his wife’s, and he gives her hand a squeeze.

 

“Ah, well… we were talking about marriage earlier and you both said some really helpful things and…” Lewis rubs the back of his neck, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face as he talks. “Well, um. Would you mind witnessing my wedding?”

 

Pearl’s old face smoothes out as she beams, and Leonard puffs his chest out proudly. “It’d be an honor, m’boy,” he says with a nod and a smile.

 

Lewis turns and guides them back into the courthouse. The woman behind the counter raises her eyebrows at the old couple behind Lewis, clearly dressed for a wedding. “Who’s witnessing whom here?” she asks with a laugh.

 

“Crane-Black?” comes a voice from down the hall. Crane’s stomach lurches excitedly and he wobbles to his feet. Pearl gives a soft gasp of surprise when she sees that Lewis’ husband to be isn’t human, but she takes it in stride as the four of them walk down the hall together to the room they’re about to be wed in.

 

Crane is a bundle of nerves, all of them good. He’s about to be married. He’s considered his wedding for a very long time, always with some faceless, non-gendered entity beside him. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to be a bride or a groom - technically they’re both grooms but he wants _something_ to seem traditional. In a panic, he grabs a small potted fern as a pseudo bouquet, trembling with excitement.

 

“What’s with the plant?” Lewis whispers, elbowing Crane as they enter the small side room. It’s decidedly unromantic, looking more like a place where you’d protest a parking ticket than get married, but it doesn’t matter. Lewis could get married to Crane in a shack and it’d be fine. Besides, he’s almost shaking with nervous excitement. An actual altar would probably be terrifying.

 

“It’s to symbolize my love for you, you stupid plant-eater,” Crane whispers back, gently hip-checking his lover. _Husband_. He still can’t believe it. He can’t believe that Lewis initiated this, he asked for it, he _wanted it._ He’s not halfway down the aisle beside Lewis and he’s already crying. Tears are streaking down his face and he’s trembling from head to toe.

 

They stand to face one another at the end of the room as the official stands beside them. Pearl and Leonard take seats in the closest bench, smiling proudly at the young man and his husband to be. Crane’s knuckles have gone white around the pot and the official offers to take it from him.

 

“Sorry,” Crane whispers, handing it over. “I panicked.”

 

Now able to take Lewis’ hands, he can feel how much the other man is trembling, just like him. Both of them are crying and laughing at the same time, tears carving wet paths down their cheeks. Crane has never felt love like this before, he’s never felt _any_ emotion this intense before. He feels like he’s going to burst into thousands of butterflies.

 

“You’re so weird,” Lewis mumbles, grinning, hands clutching at Crane’s. “I love you so much.” He swallows hard, blinking away his tears. His heart is pounding like it’s trying to break out of his chest. He can’t ever remember being this happy and scared and certain in his life.   
The official coughs politely and offers them each a sheet of paper.

 

“If you could both fill out these forms with your personal information, and any changes to your surnames, and if I could have some identification from each of you, then we can get started.” She says, gesturing towards the stand at the front of the room. It takes a little while to fill out the forms, and Lewis has to wait for a few long moments to see if his driver’s license from Earth is going to be accepted or not, but luckily the official hands it back to him after careful scrutiny, telling him she’ll allow it but he really should get a more universally accepted ID. Finally they finish writing and the official studies the forms, nodding.

 

“Alright, if you could join me at the stand here?” She says, motioning them forward, and they follow, joining hands again. It’s all so businesslike and efficient, but in a way Lewis almost prefers it – it makes it feel more real. There’s no way something so blandly organized can be a dream, no matter how much he feels like he’s dreaming.

 

As the official takes her place behind the stand, the room seems to narrow to a pinpoint. All Lewis can hear are her words, all he can feel is Crane’s warm hand firmly grasping his.

 

“Lewis Black, do you hereby take Hannibal Crane to be your lawfully wedded spouse?” The official asks, and Lewis takes a deep breath. This is one of the most important words he’s ever going to say.

 

“Yes, I do,” He says quietly, closing his eyes.

 

Crane’s expression breaks into hysteric joy, tears dripping from his chin. He’s never shook this bad before, all of his muscles are vibrating. He’s about to be married, he’s about to enter a relationship that will last forever. Lewis loves him enough to marry him, to stay with him for the rest of his life. He never thought he’d ever be so blessed in his life.

 

When she repeats the question for him, all he can manage is a muted, “Yeah,” and a wide, unsteady grin.

 

She barely has the chance to get “man and husband” out before Lewis pulls him in close and seals their union with a kiss. The most important kiss they’ll ever share. Their tears streak down one another’s cheeks, and they pay no mind to the confused others bearing witness to the expert mingling of otherwise incompatible mouths.

 

“I’m Hannibal Black now,” he says, his voice shaking. “I’m not Crane anymore. I’m never going to be Crane again.”

 

“I’m your _husband_.” Lewis whispers, covering his mouth with his hands, his smile cracking his cheeks. “We’re fucking _married_.” He has to work to breathe. It feels like it’s not even necessary anymore. Like he could live off the rising feeling in his chest forever.

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns with some difficulty away from Hannibal. Pearl and Leonard are at his elbow, smiling quietly, offering congratulations and asking if they can take them out to dinner.

 

Overcome with emotion, he sweeps them both into a hug, and steps back again, embarrassed of himself. They take it in stride, though, and then he and Hannibal are swept back into the business of signing forms and certificates. By the time they leave the courthouse, and Leonard and Pearl lead them to a small restaurant a block away, Lewis’s face hurts from smiling. He can’t seem to let go of Hannibal’s hand. His husband’s hand.

 

It’s strange for Hannibal to start thinking of himself by his first name- he’s been giving out his last name to people all his life. He called Lewis by his last name for the first few weeks he knew him for crying out loud. Last names have always been more official. And now his last name is gone, erased and wiped away and replaced by something so much more beautiful. He’s a married man. Oh, if his parents could see him now. They wouldn’t approve of Lewis, and by god he loves that.

 

He floats through dinner on cloud nine, barely registering anything around him. He’s lost in Lewis’ face, staring at his features, mapping and re-mapping every curve and slope and angle. He stares at his face so long he barely looks human anymore, he looks seraphic. Hannibal swears he glows.

 

He’s not sure if he actually ate something or not, he barely remembers their conversation or how Lewis bullshitted when Leonard asked how they met, he doesn’t concretely remember at what point they bid the old folks good night and turned to head back to their cabin as an officially married couple.

 

The sunset is gorgeous, and even though the cruiser is still parked a couple blocks away at town hall, they decide to leave it there overnight and walk home. It’s not that far a walk, and Hannibal swears he doesn’t feel a stitch of pain in his ankle. He’s certain he’s never going to feel pain again as long as he lives. They walk hand in hand, each of them overwhelmed every few minutes as they’re reminded all over again that they’re _married_. It’s so far beyond surreal.

 

In a way, everything’s exactly the same – they walk home the same way they have every night for the past week, the key sticks in the lock of the front door the same way it has the entire vacation, Hannibal opens the back windows and they sit on the couch together. It’s all the same. But the lights seem brighter, the air is clearer, the scent of tropical flowers floats in on the breeze and they’re married now. Everything is different now. Everything is better now.

 

It takes them a long time to say anything – they walked home in silence, turning to each other every once in a while to exchange blissful grins and then turn away, blushing. Lewis feels like he’s been drifting through the entire night. The only real thing is Hannibal’s hand in his, and the lines of his lover’s face, and his eyes glinting in the growing dark.

 

Now, kneeling on the narrow comfortable couch in their rental, he leans forward and wraps his arms gently around his husband (his _husband_ for god’s sake).

 

“Hannibal,” Lewis mumbles into his shoulder, trying to get used to the way the word feels in his mouth. “Hanna. Hannibal Black.” He’s smiling again, hiding his face in his lover’s soft shirt. He hopes he never gets used to this feeling.

 

Hannibal squeezes him back, rubbing his face against his neck and jaw, licking across his lips and across his cheek and eye. “Let’s go down to the beach,” he says, nuzzling against his husband’s nose and down to his throat. “I want to watch the sunset with my husband.”

 

On the beach, hand in hand, they stand close enough to the water so the cool waves wash over their toes. Just a few hours ago, Lewis was here thinking about all the ways Hannibal didn’t deserve him. And now they’re here, together, officially and forever.

 

For the first time since they left, Hannibal isn’t afraid of going back. He can face absolutely anything- any abuse, any beating, he can fight anything with his husband there permanently behind him, always there to protect him and keep him safe and remind him he’s loved. He never has to worry about losing Lewis again, they’re bound together now. The legalities might not stretch across every planet, but they don’t need to. He knows the commitment he made, the commitment Lewis made.

 

If they mess up now, they don’t have to worry about the other leaving. The solidness of their relationship is such an enormous comfort to Hannibal. He’s not scared anymore.

 

“Hey, Cra- ” Lewis stops himself, shaking his head. “Fuck, that’s going to be hard to get used to. Hannibal. Hey Hanna.”

 

Blushing under Hannibal’s loving gaze, he continues, stumbling over his words. “I didn’t really know what to say at the courthouse, and there wasn’t really time, and… I mean, it didn’t seem right, I guess, to say it in front of everyone – well, not everyone, just… you know what I mean. But I wanted… you know, you’re supposed to say vows when you get married, and I wanted to… um.” He’s babbling, and he has to stop and let his toes sink into the wet sand, remind himself to relax. It’s just Hannibal. If there’s anyone he trusts it’s the man he just pledged himself to for life.

 

“The first time I ever met you, you saved my life,” He says quietly, looking down at the waves washing across their feet. “And you keep doing it. Not even just in big ways but every day when you come home. You’re patient and funny and brave and loving and sweet. And incredibly, ridiculously handsome.” He grins sideways at Hannibal, watching the blush rise up his battered ears. “You surprise me all the time and I love it, and I love your stories and your weird habits and the way you always listen and the way you always come back no matter what stupid shit I put you through.”

 

Now he’s tearing up again, trying to keep his voice steady even though it’s so clearly a losing battle. “I kind of loved you since that first night, even if it took me a while to figure it out. And… and I’m so fucking grateful and happy that I get to be with you forever. And I’ll try to be worthy of that, because I know you will be.”

 

Swiping at his eyes, Lewis takes a deep breath and laughs. “I really couldn’t have predicted this in a thousand years, but being with you is worth everything to me. I love you, and I’m gonna love you til I die. As long as you’ll have me.”

 

Hannibal sobs a laugh, his eyes wrinkling with a wide smile. “That’s not fair,” he says, tears rolling down his cheeks again. “I didn’t prepare any vows. You cheated.”

 

Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Lewis’ shoulder, and then arches up on his tiptoes to rub against his jaw. He’ll come up with something, they might be rambling and imperfect, but all he has to do is speak from the heart, right?

 

Wiping his eyes, he bumps Lewis’ chin with his cold nose to make sure he’s paying attention. “When I met you, I knew within days you were the one for me. I was afraid of losing you- everything I said and did was in desperate attempt to keep you from leaving. If I didn’t have you in my life right now, I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d be doing, but I know it would be wrong. My whole life there’s been this gap in my spirit that I tried to fill with drugs or meaningless sex, distracting me from the gaping emptiness carved out by the love I never got.”

 

He rubs his thumbs over the backs of Lewis’ hands, laughing breathlessly. “I’ve spent forty years waiting for you. Everything I did and every choice I made was all leading up to you. My life was made for you, I was born with a perfect Lewis-shaped hole in my soul. I couldn’t imagine life without you now.”

 

Stepping forward, he wraps his arms around Lewis. His lover, his soulmate, his husband. “I don’t have much,” he says shakily, squeezing Lewis tight. “But everything I have is yours now.”

 

Now Lewis isn’t even trying to hold back the tears running down his face. He rests his head against his husband’s wrinkled cheek, holding him as close as he can. They stay in that embrace, the tide lapping at their feet, for a long time.

 

When they finally return to the cabin, they fall into bed together and make love tenderly, passionately, hearts overflowing. They fall asleep tangled together, whispering each other’s names.


End file.
